To Thine Own Self Be True
by TheCorrosivePen
Summary: The Dancing with the Stars AU no one asked for but I couldn't stop writing. If you like Bellarke, dancing, slow burn, serious sexual chemistry and a heavy side of angst then this one's for you. So much more than just a dancing competition AU or at least I hope so. Let's be honest, I used the DWTS framework and jumped from there, praying I didn't crash and burn.
1. Chapter 1

Notes: **This story was originally posted at AO3 under the same pen name. This version has been edited to remove mature content.** Where to start? This is the Dancing with the Stars crossover nobody wanted but that I just couldn't stop writing. I'm forever in debt to the amazing dances of Meryl Davis and Maks Chmerkovskiy. All of the dances during the show portion of the story are based off of their real dancing on season 18 and I highly encourage you check them out: watch?v=5TorbtHJKkA.

I owe plenty of inspiration to bad boy Drew Curtis. My search for Bob Morley led me to Home and Away and some portions of Bellamy's story here are based on Drew's misadventures.

The name comes from Hamlet and all of the chapter names are Shakespeare quotes.

 **Chapter 1: "All the world's a stage" – As You Like It**

"Absolutely not."

Clarke glared at her mother across the desk littered with manila folders. She could feel her face heating up. She tried not to grind her teeth as Abigail Griffin, last place mother of the year and United States Vice President, stared back. "Why the hell not?"

"I don't like exposing you like that," her mother insisted, frowning down at some document in front of her. Clarke wasn't sure how much her mother was paying attention. She'd been lucky to get a minute of her time before Air Force One departed for some official function several states away.

"Mom." Clarke leaned forward, bracing herself on the desk as she ducked her head to catch Abigail's eyes. Clarke sighed loudly. This was pointless. She hadn't been a minor in nearly a decade; she did not need her mother's permission to do anything. After all the tension that had built up over the last few years, this had been her version of an olive branch. Better for her mother to hear the news in person than on national TV. Her mother finally glanced up at her, brushing light brown hair out of her eyes.

"Clarke. Especially after your father's passing, this family does not need any extra media attention."

She felt a jolt run all the way down her spine, leaving a yawning pit of discomfort in its wake. Clarke counted to ten, trying to think of the ocean and clear the roaring that threatened to deafen her ears. She waited until she wasn't going to cry or scream.

"Don't you dare talk about him. And if you're so worried about media attention, you probably should have thought about that before you agreed to be a Senator and a VP," she replied, keeping her tone dangerously even.

Her mother flinched, eyes finally settling on Clarke's face. Staring into her daughter's eyes, she pursed her lips. "Are you ever going to talk to me about that?"

"No."

"Will you agree not to do the show?"

"No. I'm 26 years old. This was a courtesy visit. I'll remember that it's a waste next time," Clarke muttered, moving toward the exit.

"Clarke."

Abigail Griffin's desperate tone had Clarke turning back to her. Her mother was staring at her with dark eyes and a lost expression. Despite the sadness in her mother's eyes, Clarke felt no sympathy as she strode from the room. Her mother had chosen her path long ago. It was high time that Clarke stepped off that road and made her own decisions.

She pushed out the doors of the office and made her way down the corridor toward the exit. She had a flight to Los Angeles to catch.

Clarke smiled as her phone buzzed in her pocket. A glance out her apartment window showed Wells leaning against a Lincoln Town Car. While she hated being couriered around everywhere by the Secret Service, it was non-negotiable when going on outings with Wells. She took a last look around her small apartment, making sure all the lights were turned off and the electronics unplugged. Despite the trip to Los Angeles possibly lasting more than ten weeks, she was leaving her apartment empty. It was the first thing she had obtained on her own with no input, either monetarily or otherwise, from her mother. In any case, her survival on the show was not guaranteed and she could be home next week.

Satisfied, she slung her blue duffle bag over her shoulder and locked the front door. Time to go see what Hollywood was all about. Smiling to herself, she felt an extra bounce in her step as she bounded down the stairs. She was so caught up in the feeling of impending freedom that she nearly plowed over Wells when she reached the bottom. He laughed, a hearty sound that was her very definition of home.

"Excited?"

She grinned back at him. "Hell yes! A whole ten weeks away from DC and all this insanity. I can't imagine anything sounding better right now."

"Ten weeks?" he teased as he grabbed her bag from her. A Secret Service operative opened the rear door of the car for them. Wells slipped into the seat across from her, setting her bag beside him. "Isn't that a little presumptuous? I mean there are 11 other people in this thing, Clarke."

She shrugged, "I have dance experience."

His eyebrows shot up in amusement. "I'm not sure those ballet classes when we were six really count. Isn't that like a rite of passage for every girl?"

Clarke narrowed her eyes in mock anger. "I'll have you know I worked my ass off in those classes… and I may have taken a lot ballet and jazz in college."

"What? I never knew you were taking dance."

Clarke shifted in her seat, glancing at Wells out of the corner of her eye. College had been her exploration time. She'd finally gotten out of upscale New York City and into a small liberal arts school that was elite enough for her parents, but far enough off the beaten path that no one paid much attention to the fact that Senator Griffin's daughter was attending. They'd had a relaxed set of rules when it came to classes and she'd completed nearly a quarter of her class credit in dance.

At first it had been a bit of nostalgia, wishing she could go back to the days where her dad would drop her off at the local rec center for beginning ballet and then they'd stop at Dairy Queen on the way home for a cone with the real ice cream that her mother never let her order. After the first class, however, she'd been hooked. She'd even auditioned and been accepted to the college's reparatory dance troop. The time requirements of her Pre-Med degree had forced her to withdraw her junior year, but she had completed several solo performances before she left.

Of course, Wells knew nothing of these achievements since she'd decided to keep her passion for dance a secret. If Wells had known, he would have undoubtedly told her mother about one of her performances and the lectures never end. It's not that she didn't trust him, but sometimes he took on the role of older brother and tried to do the right thing for her without asking permission. Case in point being their middle school bake sale. Wells had admitted to her mother that she'd burned the chocolate chip cookies they'd made together. Instead of remaking them, her mother had gone to some uppity bakery and had 100 perfect chocolate chip cookies made and delivered. Nothing but the best for Senator Griffin's daughter.

Clarke resisted the urge to grind her teeth. She hated the aura of privilege that followed her around even before her mother became Vice President two years ago. She'd tried to talk to Wells about it in high school, back when her mother was a mere Senator and his father was Governor, but he'd brushed her off. He knew people called him America's prince, but he took it all in stride and didn't see why Clarke was bothered by the outside perception of them. Clarke suspected that had more to do with the bubble that their parents enforced on them than Wells truly not understanding. If he was never exposed to everyday Americans, how could he know?

She was eternally thankful for the respite that her college experience had afforded her. She'd had normal friends who didn't even know she was related to New York Senator Abigail Griffin. She'd danced and painted and taken a few extra classical history credits than she needed. If her mother had complained, Clarke hadn't heard about it. That had been the deal. College was hers, failures and successes, and they didn't get to interfere as long as she finished with a degree in science after four years. She'd finished all her coursework in three years, but had stayed the extra year building up her biology background and making sure she would be a top applicant at Georgetown's medical school. In retrospect, she probably should have spent that year continuing the art project that she'd dropped her junior year, which had been a fusion between visual and performing arts.

Wells clearing his throat brought her back to the present. She snuck a glance at him, he was looking at her, but no accusation shone through his eyes. He understood that sometimes Clarke was simply elsewhere these days.

"Yeah. I took a ton of dance classes," she admitted. "I was even in their auditions only dance troop."

Now his gaze turned accusatory. "And why the hell wasn't I invited to any of those performances. I was only down the Hudson in the city!"

"I didn't want her finding out."

"Clarke…" he began, pausing to find the right words. "You know I always have your back, right?"

She let out an agreeable noise, but didn't respond. Wells had her back, but she hadn't been ready to share. At least not back then when she'd just tasted her first breath of freedom.

"Fine." He held up his hands in surrender. "So do you know who your partner is going to be?"

Clarke couldn't help the sigh of relief that accompanied the loss of tension through her shoulders as Wells let the subject drop. Sweet, kind Wells sometimes just didn't know how the other half felt and she never enjoyed their arguments.

"Nope. No idea. They tell us who is available, in terms of the male pros, but we don't get to know who we're paired with until we meet them."

Wells nodded, looking out at the passing parkway. A teasing smile graced his features. "Anyone you want?"

Clarke's brow furrowed as she tried to recall the list of pros that had been sent to her after her acceptance. She hadn't followed the show very closely over the years, but after receiving the list she'd taken the time to watch a few of their previous dances on YouTube. Best to stay informed and all. Plus, some of these men were truly delicious to watch, dancing or otherwise. Not that she would ever admit that in public, let alone to Wells. "I think Nathan Miller is really good. I like his choreography; it's really innovative. Nyko Berger and Gustus Belikov seem okay too. I love Gustus' technique. Tristan DuPree seems like an asshole, at least from the pieces they show from rehearsal, but that might just be reality TV making a story out of nothing. John Murphy has a kind of creepy vibe, but his dancing is awesome."

Wells emitted a sound halfway between and chuckle and a snort. "I take it you've actually done a bit of research on this, haven't you Clarke?"

"Maybe."

"You left out one name."

"Since when do you watch Dancing with the Stars?" she returned. So what if she had left off one of the male pros. There was no way that Wells should even know that.

"My mother happens to be a super big fan," he explained, barely containing his glee at catching her unawares. "Her favorite dancer is Bellamy Blake."

Clarke let out a pitiful moan. Of course Mrs. Jaha, First Lady extraordinaire, would love Bellamy Blake. He was devastatingly handsome, even Clarke could admit that, and his dances were full of such passion that Clarke had stopped the YouTube video to grab a cold beer to try and contain the twisting feeling she got in the pit of her stomach as she watched. Just a flash of his dark eyes and the simple movement of his arms in a Viennese Waltz had paralyzed her through the computer screen. She was in no way prepared to dance with him. Not to mention he had a reputation of being an unrelenting hardass in practice, to the point of being a colossal asshole to both his partner and the show staff.

"You don't want to dance with Bellamy Blake?" Wells prodded, clearly incredulous.

She could feel the blood rush to her face and was sure she was imitating a tomato. "I don't know. He has a reputation of being an asshole."

Wells' smile turned wry. "But you admit that he's a great dancer."

"Yes, Wells, I admit that Bellamy Blake is every woman's dream dance partner. Is that what you want to hear?"

He nodded and beamed at her. "So you like him. You want him… you love him… Hey! Youch!"

Clarke glared as she shook out her stinging hand. "Would you just shut up? I have no idea who they'll be pairing me with, okay? It probably isn't Bellamy, they usually put him with one of the really skinny, super hot brunettes."

"Whatever you say," Wells replied, rolling his eyes.

She glanced out the window as the car rolled to stop. The passenger drop off lane at Dulles loomed in front of them. The driver opened the door and she and Wells stepped onto the curb. She smiled at him, pushing back the loose strands of her wavy blonde hair whipping in the crisp March breeze.

"So this is farewell, but not goodbye," she started.

"And may we meet again," he finished. It was a silly little tradition they had started in grade school when either of them had to accompany their respective parent on a business trip. It had endured through middle school and become a staple of their bigger goodbyes for the rest of their life. Clarke had no idea where the phrases had come from, but they felt like a reminder that home was always a phone call away in Wells. He gathered her in a tight hug before kissing her forehead.

"Go win a Mirror Ball Trophy for me, okay?"

She smiled and reached in to kiss his cheek, feeling the winter chill more distinctly as she pulled away. "I will, just for you."

S~*~S

She hitched her blue duffle over her shoulder and stepped away. As she reached the terminal door, she glanced back at him one last time. He was leaning on the Town Car, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black overcoat and his face buried in his navy wool scarf. Despite his face being covered, she could see the warm smile in his eyes. She raised a hand in farewell and then turned to enter the terminal. The noises and chaos of the airport quickly overwhelmed her senses and she made her way to the United check in. One seven hour plane flight and a night in a hotel stood between her and the next big adventure. She bounced on the balls of her feet in anticipation all the way to her seat in first class.

Clarke fidgeted with the hem of her neon blue, oversized t-shirt, which she wore over basic black leggings and a bright green sports bra. She hated dancing in anything but leggings and a sports bra, but she'd decided to cover up for the introduction to her partner. Maya, the "Star Coordinator," had assured her that the sports bra was fine, but Clarke wasn't sure about making her first impression on America, let alone her pro, half dressed. Hence the marled blue hi-low shirt.

She glanced around the studio again. Clarke had already memorized the place in the ten minutes she'd been inside. There was a standard wall with mirrors, a set of stairs leading to a slightly higher stage portion at one end and a window looking out over the smoggy Los Angeles landscape at the other end. Essentially, it was a every other dance studio in America. What stood out like a sore thumb were the six cameras positioned all around the room recording her from every possible angle. Clarke was used to being at least partially in the spotlight, but this seemed like overkill. Once again, Maya had assured her that it was all completely normal. The lead cameraman had introduced himself as Kyle Wick. "Just call me Wick," he'd told her with an easy smile. While his laid back attitude had quieted her nerves, she still felt like a goldfish in a very tiny bowl. On the plus side, none of the crew had really reacted to her in terms of her "celebrity" status. Of course, they were used to dealing with guests on the show with far more star power than the daughter of the Vice President could ever hope to acquire. Not that Clarke was looking for star power. Quite the opposite really. So black hole power? Clarke snorted to herself. Yes, she was definitely seeking black hole power.

The door to the studio banged open and Clarke swung around, nearly tripping over her own feet. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw it was only Maya.

"He's on his way," Maya smiled at her.

"Oh god," Clarke breathed, adrenaline shooting though her. Her fingers started to tingle as she reminded herself that this was only some dancing TV show and her life was not about to change fundamentally in any way.

Maya moved to stand beside Clarke. "Just breathe, you'll be fine. I have to run on to the next couple… don't want me ruining your first meeting footage."

Clarke closed her eyes and tried to recall the sound of the ocean. Hell she'd even go for remembering what color the ocean was at this point. Despite her nerves, she managed to reply to Maya, "Yeah, okay. I'll survive."

She heard the door bang closed again and let out a breath of relief. She took another deep breath and tried to remember how to be a human being.

"You doing okay there, Princess?"

Her eyes snapped open to find themselves lost in dark chocolate brown. For a few seconds, she forgot how to breathe. He moved a step closer, flooding her with a woody scent that reminded her of her father's cabin in the Adirondacks traced with a hint of sweat and sandalwood. Then he was carefully touching her arm and she was jumping backward as if hit by lightning, which she might have been considering the jolt that had run down her spine at his touch.

Thankfully, the touch had also lurched her back to reality and she offered a small smile, but avoided meeting his eyes again. "Sorry, I'm just a little nervous."

He chuckled, a deep masculine sound that vibrated her core. "Don't worry, I understand, Princess."

Now that her brain had caught up with the situation, Clarke immediately focused on the term of endearment he was using. She frowned, looking around the room and feeling a new level of mortification as she realized their entire interaction was being recorded from six very unflattering angles. She managed to ask, "why princess?"

"Are you kidding?" He stared at her like she had just told him she couldn't remember her ABCs.

Now she was starting to get upset. This was horrifying enough without him adding insult to injury. "No, I have absolutely no effing clue what you are on about."

He must have realized she truly didn't because he ran a hand awkwardly through his messy black curls before explaining. "Everyone calls you America's Princess. Hence Princess."

Clarke was stunned. "America doesn't have a monarchy."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Princess, I am aware of that."

"I have a name, you know," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Hey guys." They both turned to stare at Wick as he stepped out from behind his camera. "As much as reality TV loves drama, usually the introduction is pretty much just a 'hey, so awesome to meet you' kind of thing. Maybe we just want to redo this one?"

They both stared at him for a beat before her partner to be nodded sharply and motioned toward the door. "I'll just come in again?"

"That'd be great," Wick replied. "And Bellamy? Try to keep it civil this time?"

Once Bellamy Blake, and oh yes it was definitely Bellamy Blake, left the studio, Clarke moved to sit on the stairs. She hoped that her slumped position would hide the tremors still running through her body. Damn it. Why did he have this effect on her? Because he was stunningly attractive and a phenomenal dancer. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. He was coming back any second and she was not going to let this experience be ruined just because Bellamy Blake made her nervous as hell. Clarke Griffin was stronger than that. Nodding to herself, Clarke made a mental promise not to let Bellamy Blake mess with her head.

The door opened again and she looked up to see him striding into the room, an overly bright smile in place as he headed straight for her. She pushed herself to her feet as he neared her and tried to return the smile.

"Bellamy Blake," he told her as he reached out a hand.

She let her hand be engulfed in his strong grip while managing to clearly enunciate, "Clarke Griffin. Pleased to meet you."

"Pleasure is all mine, Princess."

His dark eyes flashed with something indecipherable as she glared into them. Clarke was sure they had agreed to forget the princess thing. His gaze seemed almost mocking as he raised her hand and branded it with his lips. Clarke was frozen somewhere between mortification and absolute fury, which hitherto had only been a place experienced during extreme confrontations with her mother and never on national television. She ground her teeth and moved closer. He wasn't that much taller than her, maybe half a head and she could easily place her lips near his ear, away from the prying camera and all of America sitting at home on their sofas.

"Do. Not. Fucking. Call. Me. That," she hissed. Her movement had made their position somewhat awkward, with her leaning into his space for seemingly no reason. He seemed to realize this since he brought his arms around her in a pathetic imitation of a hug. She supposed it would seem real enough to the viewers, but she could feel he was resisting pulling away each second of the embrace.

His hot breath tickled her ear. "I'm just calling it like I see it, Princess."

She growled deep in her throat, but managed not to appear combative.

Wick cleared his throat. "I think that's plenty for now. Maya will be back in with your first dance and music."

They sprung apart, but kept eyes locked. In her peripheral vision Clarke was relieved to see the six cameras being shut down and their operators carrying them out of the room. Maya had explained that usually there was always a few cameras present during rehearsal, but that they gave them a few hours in the beginning with their pro to get to know them and the dances before they were splashed all over the TV. As the door clicked shut behind the last cameraman, she turned to Bellamy. With no audience to hold her back, he was going to get what was coming to him.

"Where the hell do you get off calling me that?"

His smirk was cruel, not playful as he replied, "I don't fucking get off anywhere. It's just the God Damn truth. I can't name a single more privileged girl in the good old US of A. The title fits, your royal highness."

"Ugh!" she met his cold glare head on. "I am not defined by my mother!"

At this, his gaze shuttered for a moment before resuming its icy veneer. "I hate to break it to you, but the only reason you're even here is because of who your mother is. You haven't done a damn thing to deserve to be here."

She felt like she was ten again and she'd just found out Wells had asked Jimmy Stevens instead of her to the movies. It was as if Bellamy had thrown a perfectly executed punch deep into her gut. He was right; She hadn't done a damn thing to deserve this. This was supposed to be her chance to be her own person, to prove to the world and herself that Clarke Griffin was not just Abigail Griffin's daughter. Bellamy's cold expression remained unchanged and she tried her best not to outwardly flinch. She'd be damned if she let him know how deeply his words cut.

Summoning her courage, she crossed her arms and glared at him. "Clearly we are not going to get along any time soon. That's fine, I can act. I assume you can act since the entire world is apparently unaware of how much of an asshole you are and you seem to still have a job. This means we're both here to do one thing and that's to dance. So just teach me the damn dances, Bellamy fucking Blake."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily before nodding curtly. His dark eyes burned with cold fury as he replied, "Fine."

S~*~S

Clarke groaned as she tried to listen to the show hosts, Tom Bergeron and Erin Andrews, standing before the group of "stars" and pros. The last week had been hell. There was no way to sugar coat the experience of working with someone so incredibly stubborn and vindictive. Bellamy had taken great joy in working her until she was on the brink of exhaustion every rehearsal session. He still called her princess when the cameras were on, perhaps because he knew she couldn't fight back. In the rare case they were alone, his tone became gruff and his eyes hardened into orbs of steel. Every time he touched her, Clarke felt like he was resisting flinching away in disgust. Other than a few quick phone calls to Wells to lament her situation, the first week of rehearsals had been horrible.

She'd met a few of the other cast members and pros, most notable being a tall NFL player named Lincoln Blackwell. Despite his profession and size, Clarke had felt immediately comfortable in his presence. They had grabbed lunch together in the studio kitchen a few days and she had to admit she was relieved that someone here might end up being a friend to her.

She'd also seen Lexa Brenner, the US Congresswoman from New York, but she'd already known Lexa from the time her mother held the US Senate seat in New York. While they hadn't been close growing up, the summer after college her mother had recruited Clarke to work on Lexa's campaign. Clarke wasn't starting at Georgetown's medical school until the fall, so she'd agreed out of an interest in some extra cash of her own. Despite initially finding Lexa to be callous, they had grown closer and even attempted a few dates by the late summer. While there were plenty of sparks between them, Clarke had realized she did not want politics to be the center of her life. If she stayed with Lexa, that's exactly what would have happened, so she'd kissed her goodbye and gotten on a train at Penn Station and never looked back.

Now she was confronted with Lexa's cool stare as she glanced down the line of competitors. Clarke had successfully avoided her until dress rehearsal earlier in the day, but Lexa had cornered her and coolly asked how med school was treating her, as if their summer fling had been a thing of imagination. Knowing Lexa, she had probably compartmentalized it away. Clarke met her gaze now, trying to appear unruffled, which was difficult since Bellamy's arm was burning a line across her bare back.

Her skimpy cha-cha-cha costume was blue ombre transitioning from a sparkling pale blue bodice to poufy layers of deepening blue chiffon. She felt like Elsa from Frozen crossed with an emu. Bellamy tugged at her hand as Tom and Erin finished.

"Come on, Princess." He nodded toward the stage where Wick was directing several of the crew to change the set. She followed him up the stairs to the balcony overhanging the performance space. Bellamy slid his eyes to her face, his gaze lacking its usual bite. "You ready for this?"

She refused to meet his stare, opting to drill holes in the dusting of freckles that traced the bridge of his nose and cheeks, making him look both younger and more innocent. Clarke resisted rolling her eyes. She knew better. Bellamy Blake was a controlling asshole, plain and simple.

"I'm not going to fuck this up for you, Blake. Don't worry about it."

He stared out over the crowd. "Good."

The ballroom plunged into darkness a moment later. Then the spotlights began to weave through the crowd before landing at the bottom of both staircases.

Tom Bergeron's amplified voice boomed through the room, "Welcome to the 18th season of Dancing with the Stars! I'm your host, Tom Bergeron, and this is Erin Andrews!"

Erin stepped forward next to Tom, elegant as always in a floor length white halter dress. "We're happy to introduce our returning Judges for this season… Ms. Carrie Ann Inaba, Mr. Len Goodman, and Mr. Bruno Tonioli!"

Clarke watched each of the judges approach the judging podium. They didn't come to the dress rehearsals, so this was the first time she'd seen them in person. Carrie Ann was shorter than she'd imagined, but Len and Bruno appeared no different than when she'd watched episodes on YouTube. A hand ghosted over her back and she realized Bellamy had returned his arm to its original position. She sighed, but didn't comment. They were supposed to be a happy dancing couple right now.

"And now to introduce our stars," Tom cut into the fading applause.

"Gavin Sterling, three time Wimbledon champion, and pro Amy Monroe." A slender man with shaggy brown hair and a women with severe braids artfully worked into her hair made their way down the stairs before moving to stand at the rear of the stage. Clarke had never seen Gavin play tennis, but he had a natural ease of movement across the floor.

"Myles Starrman, TV and movie actor and writer, and pro Natalie Fox!" Erin continued the introductions. Myles was young, Clarke noted as he danced down the stairs with the slender brunette. Concentrating on what she could see of his face, she recognized him from several movies over a decade ago.

"Dax Marshall, MMA star, with pro Costia Williams." A tall blonde man accompanied by a petite red head made their way down the stairs. Clarke hadn't heard of Dax, but she'd seen Costia dancing on the show and knew that despite her size, she had an enormous presence on stage. The only pro that demanded more attention from center stage was Bellamy. Clarke smiled as Dax gave a small shimmy at center stage, clearly at ease at the center of a crowd. Bellamy's fingers tightened at her side. She could feel the heat of each of his fingers boring into her stomach. She shifted forward and gave him a confused glance.

Bellamy leaned further into her, hovering next to her ear. "Don't fall for it."

Clarke turned her face up to his. At this distance his freckles stood out starkly against his olive skin. His dark lashes shuttered his eyes as he peered down at her. "Huh?"

He jerked his chin towards the stage below them. "Don't fall for his charm. He has nearly a dozen assault and battery charges against him. None ever proven, of course."

"Why would the producers let him on the show?" she murmured back.

Bellamy's eyes hardened and his lips twisted into a scowl making him look older and world-weary. "Money, Princess. It's always about the money."

As Clarke glanced back down she realized they'd missed the introduction of the next couple. A tall man with short-cropped hair stood next to a slender exotic woman. She recognized the pro as Tristan DuPree, but had no idea who the woman was.

Tom Bergeron continued, "Charlotte Grace, Olympic gold medalist in ladies figure skating, and Nyko Berger!"

Charlotte was the youngest of the competitors at 16, but she moved like liquid grace and Clarke knew that Charlotte was going to be one of her primary competitors. Even her long hair swung gracefully as Nyko pirouetted her around before leading her to their spot on stage.

"Lexa Brenner, New York congresswoman, and Gustus Belikov!" Clarke leaned further over the balcony to get a better look at Lexa. Her slim frame and long legs were accentuated by the criminally short latin dance costume that hugged her every curve. Clarke couldn't help a pang of regret at never being able to fully explore those inviting curves. The soft murmur of Bellamy's voice against her ear reminded her that he'd never backed off after warning her about Dax, "See something you like, Princess?"

He had pitched his voice in a deliberately sensual tone and Clarke used all her will power not to react to him. "It's none of your business, Blake."

He simply raised his eyebrows, clearly not buying her bluster. "Whatever makes you happy, Princess."

Clarke sighed. He was going to find out anyway so he might as well hear the truth from her. "I used to work with her. I helped in one of her campaigns."

Bellamy's eyes widened. He had clearly not expected her answer to be so simple. His eyes darkened as he slowly glanced between Clarke and Lexa, as if unsatisfied with her explanation, but he didn't push the subject.

"Finn Collins, movie actor and model, and pro Julia Harper!" Erin Andrews' voice brought Clarke back to reality. She'd seen Finn's face on plenty of billboards over the years, but it was surprising to see how carefree he appeared in person. His long shaggy hair swung around his face and his eyes twinkled as he hammed it up for the audience before he and Julia moved back into the growing line of couples on stage.

"Lincoln Blackwell, Denver Broncos kicker, and pro Roma Winston!" Clarke enthusiastically clapped for her friend, ignoring Bellamy's curious side-glance. While Lincoln was a giant, Roma was also fairly tall, easily complementing his height. Clarke could see why they had been placed together. Roma's slender but curvy in all the right places physique paired well with his wall of muscle. Roma was a Grecian Goddess Clarke observed, trying to stem the swell of jealousy. She had long ago accepted that she had more curves than was socially acceptable these days and that her body type, while effective at drawing the stares of both sexes, was never going to be the elegant willowy frame she'd dreamt of having in her youth.

"Raven Reyes, CEO of ARC Industries, and pro Nathan Miller." Raven was all hard angles and fire as she walked down the stairs with Miller, their dark skin glowing under the spotlights. Clarke hadn't met her yet, but had taken the time to research ARC Industries. As far as she could tell, Raven was a genius. Everything her company had created was innovative and environmentally conscious.

"Emori Oliva, Olympic silver medalist in distance running, and pro John Murphy." Emori had been in the spotlight during the last summer Olympics. Despite missing her left hand, lost in a childhood accident, she had qualified for the traditional cross country length races at the Olympics through the usual path. Clarke remembered tearing up as she watched her cross the finish line in the 5 K.

"Atom Saunders, X-games Champion, and pro Octavia Blake." Clarke glanced at Bellamy. His eyes were narrowed at Atom and a frown was tugging at his lips. She knew that Octavia was his sister; the fact was mentioned in nearly every media article covering the show. Despite Bellamy being the older of the two, Octavia had led two partners to the Mirror Ball trophy while her older brother still was winless in their seven years with the show. Clarke was beginning to understand why Bellamy had never made it to the top of the pack. His skills as a dancer and choreographer were unparalleled, but his uncompromising expectations and generally unpleasant demeanor around people, at least in her experience, made him impossible to work with.

Bellamy's arm slipped from around her, giving her hand a sharp tug. They were to be announced next. Clarke moved to the top of the stairs and plastered on a smile that she hoped looked more than 70 percent believable.

"And last, but certainly not least, Clark Griffin, daughter of Vice President Abigail Griffin, and pro Bellamy Blake!"

Clarke's feet moved through the choreography down the stairs and into the center of the stage with no input from her brain. Bellamy's sure grip guided her through a semi-complicated series of turns and shimmies before they stepped into their place in the line.

Tom Bergeron stepped out in front of the swaying couples to address the crowd. "And now, introduced last, but dancing first, Clarke and Bellamy!"

The ordering on show night was somewhat random, but Bellamy had warned her there was a strong possibility of them dancing first. Clarke took a deep breath as Bellamy led her to center stage. She stared into his eyes, letting their dark, endless depths calm her nerves. She may not like him, but she trusted him in this arena.

The first notes of Icona Pop's "All Night" filled the ballroom and Clarke let muscle memory take over. Bellamy's strong hands guided her arms, shoulders and hips through the motions. Her breath caught as they came to one of the dips, falling with abandon into his arms. Then her fingers were caressing the flesh exposed by his deep-cut black shirt, flirting with the heat of his abs. Before the sensation had begun to dissipate, he was leading her through a series of pirouettes across the floor, the audience nothing but a blur of silent noise. His palms branded her hips as they gyrated across the floor together before stilling at the last notes of the music. Clarke let out a giddy breath and resisted the urge to jump up and down squealing. She had missed this. Had she truly forgotten how amazing she felt while performing?

Before she realized what was happening, Bellamy led her to stand in front of the judges with a satisfied smirk on his face. Tom gave her a pat on the back before turning to the judging table. "Bruno, you want to start us off?"

"My God! I need to go take a cold shower," the excitable judge gushed. Clarke's cheeks burned as she took in his words. "But really guys, that was a fantastic first dance. A few areas for improvement in terms of footing and extension, but you two have chemistry that could melt an entire planet made of ice."

"Sounding good," Tom told them before motioning to Carrie Ann.

"Wow. Just wow. I agree with Bruno that there are a few bits of technique that needs some work, but you two have such a strong connection. I have no doubt we'll be seeing a lot of you."

Clarke smiled at her in thanks, but quickly turned her attention to Len. Here was the judge that would make or break her. She knew she wanted Len's approval more than the others. She wanted to be a good dancer, right down the most pedantic bits of technique.

"Well, it was pretty good. I liked all the technical elements you included, Bellamy. I think with a bit of work on your footing and posture you could be truly exquisite, Clarke."

She nodded to Len while letting out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. Len liked her. She followed the tug of Bellamy's hand as he led her up the stairs and to the observation deck where Erin Andrews was waiting for them.

"So Clarke, how does that feel?"

"Amazing! I love performing and Bellamy is so skilled at what he does. I'm just so lucky to be here and be his partner," she replied, trying to make her voice breathier.

Erin nodded, "He really is talented. So glad to see he finally has a partner to live up to his expectations. I fear I never even came close to your talent level, Clarke."

Clarke tried to hide her surprise. She hadn't realized that Erin had competed on the show, let alone with Bellamy. She felt the tension in Bellamy's shoulders increase where she leant against him and decided to let it go. She had her own set of issues with him and there was no point in dwelling on topics that made them all uncomfortable.

Erin covered the awkward pause admirably, turning to Bellamy instead. "So how is she as a partner, Bellamy?"

Now it was Clarke's turn to tense. She resisted the urge to look back at him or nervously shift. They had agreed to act like everything was fine on camera and she didn't see him throwing her under the bus. This was his job after all and it was best that America did not find out about his predilection to complete assholery.

Bellamy's chest vibrated against her back as he spoke, "She's very hard working and talented. I think we can really go places this season."

Erin grinned at both of them. "Ready for the Judges scores?"

Clarke tried to keep her face neutral as the scores were announced. They received 8's across the board. Clarke had no idea if that was good or bad. She had only watched a few episodes from later in the season where scores like 9s or 10s were given to the leaders.

"How does that feel?"

Erin's question hung in the air for a second before Bellamy realized that Clarke wasn't going to say anything. He placed an arm around her shoulders and smiled a little too brightly at Erin. "It feels great!"

Erin stepped away from them to start talking about the commercial break and Bellamy immediately gripped her forearm, yanking her into the backstage area. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Clarke stared at him in bewilderment. She opened her mouth to reply, thought better of it, and just frowned. He scowled at her, his freckles pulling down across his flushed cheeks and his eyes flashing dangerously.

"You were supposed to say something nice after the judges scores and then ask for the viewer votes. Do you have no idea what this show is about?"

She turned away from him and stomped further down the hallway. There were cameras everywhere and she had no desire for this interaction to be caught on film. Satisfied that they were far enough into the darkness that no one would see them, she rounded on him. "No! I have no idea what I'm doing. I've never even watched a complete episode of the show!"

"What?" He looked like she'd dumped a bucket of arctic water over his head. He ran a hand through his gelled curls causing them to unstick and fall into his eyes. Clarke absently noted that the hair and makeup team was not going to be pleased.

She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to not think about how absurd she looked in her Cha-Cha-Cha dress and spikey dance heels. "I'm here because I want to dance, Blake. I couldn't give less of a damn about the popularity contest aspect of it all."

He stared at her a beat longer, his dark eyes glowing in the low light of the corridor. "This wasn't your mother's idea of a way to help out the upcoming campaign?"

"What?" She felt her jaw hanging open and reminded herself that gaping at Bellamy Blake was probably not a good idea. "No. She hates that I'm here. We don't even talk since…"

Clarke abruptly cut herself off. Damn it. She was not talking about her father's death with Asshole Blake, no matter that he hadn't called her princess the entire time they had been back stage. It was a new record for him. She looked at him, trying to figure out if he realized why she had stopped. His teeth were worrying his lower lip and his eyes held an expression she'd never seen on him before. He took a half step closer such that now she could feel the heat of his body pervading her space.

"You obviously have dance experience," he murmured, eyes scanning across her face as if looking for the answer to particularly troublesome puzzle. "Why not just dance if that's what you want?"

Clarke tried to contain the choked laugh that bubbled up in her chest, but there was no stopping it. "I don't have a lot of say in my life. I'm pretty sure quitting med school and joining a dance company would get me disowned and then put under house arrest."

"But you can do the show?"

She shrugged. "It's just a show. It'll be over in a few months and everything will go back to normal. Maybe you're right and she doesn't actually mind the publicity. Or maybe she's positive that I won't make it past the first round of eliminations. Probably the latter. So can we just keep dancing, Blake?"

He paused a moment before a small smile that might have been the first genuine expression of happiness she'd ever seen on him appeared. "Yeah. We can do that, Griffin."

"Clarke, please. I don't want to sound like my mother."

His eyes sparkled with mirth as he replied, "don't be too picky, Princess."

For once the word didn't make her immediately want to claw out his eyes. She was still annoyed, but for now she could let it go. After all, she was here to dance, not make nice with Bellamy Blake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: "Nothing will come of nothing" - King Lear**

The rest of the premiere went off without a hitch. Most couples earned scores in the range of sixes and sevens, leaving Clarke and Bellamy near the top of the leaderboard. The surprise of the night was Lincoln and Roma who scored three nines for their contemporary piece to "Let her Go" by Passenger. Not that Clarke was surprised. In the week and a half that she'd known Lincoln, she'd quickly realized that he didn't fit the football player stereotype. His creation of a sandwich during lunch had a bizarre grace to it that made Clarke smile. Not to mention that he was an expert on international relations. He saw her status as the Vice President's daughter as an opportunity to discuss Middle Eastern politics with someone as informed as himself. Despite having limited interest in the topics of debate, Clarke enjoyed arguing with him and looked forward to their discussions.

Wells texted her congratulations after the show, noting that she and Bellamy really did have amazing chemistry. This was followed by a text asking if they still hated each other. She replied "thanks" to the first and "jury's still out on that one" to the second. Their conversation in the hallway had broken the icy veneer between them, but she wasn't sure how much would change. She had no idea what to think of Bellamy assuming she was only on the show because her mother wanted publicity. It was the least flattering interpretation of her presence that she could imagine. Just thinking about it made Clarke's stomach turn. She was here to break out of that shell and not even her own pro had given her the benefit of the doubt. Of course, Bellamy had proven to be a special sort of asshole so perhaps she shouldn't accept his views as the status quo.

Sighing, she left the dressing room happily anticipating the hot bath awaiting her at the hotel. Halfway across the parking lot she reached for her phone to text Wells again, figuring his advice was probably what she needed right now, but came up empty. A few seconds of frantic rummaging through her purse passed before she concluded her phone was still on the counter by her chair in the dressing room. Great. Just what she needed after this exhausting day, another foray into the lion's den. It was unlikely she'd encounter Bellamy, almost everyone had already headed out, but Clarke hardly wanted to risk any more drama.

She twisted the handle of the door back to the studio and pushed. The door didn't budge and Clarke had to sidestep to avoid running face first into the glass. Wonderful. She peered into the darkness, searching for a sign of life as she pounded on the door. A minute or so into the banging Maya appeared and Clarke give silent thanks for sweet, useful Maya, who seemed to always have her back.

Most of the lights were off as she made her way back to the dressing room, forcing her to walk zombie-style as she tried not to bump into anything or anyone. A crack of light shone beneath the dressing room door, but Clarke thought nothing of it as she pulled the door open.

Her eyes caught their reflection in the mirror first. Roma's head was thrown back, eyes closed, as she perched on the edge of a vanity. Her shapely legs were wrapped around the slim hips of her partner, her stiletto heels clicking together. Her bra straps had slipped down her arms where they braced her weight. Breathy noises kept coming from her mouth as the head of loose black curls moved up and down her neck. His bare back rippled with the movements and Clarke forgot to breathe.

Holy shit. She stuffed a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. Moving as quietly as possible she backed out of the room and carefully closed the door. Once in the dark corridor, she took at moment to regain her equilibrium before turning toward the ballroom. She would just have to wait them out. If it wasn't her phone she'd just leave but the phone was her only lifeline in LA and she was unwilling to brave the city without it.

She slumped into one of the front row seats and pulled out a book, a YA fantasy book she'd picked up a library book sale in West LA the other day. She needed an immediate distraction from the visceral memory of muscles moving enticingly under olive skin and Roma's breathy moans.

"Why are you still here?"

The voice came from the stage and Clarke was just able to make out long straight hair and a slim build in the dim light. Octavia walked closer to her and took a seat on the stage, skinny jean clad legs crossed in front of her. "You going to answer me?"

"Sorry," Clarke muttered. "It's been a weird night. I need my phone."

"And?" Octavia motioned toward the empty studio, clearly uncertain why Clarke was sitting here reading a book in barely there light.

"And I left it in the dressing room."

"Ah." Octavia's blue eyes darkened in comprehension. "I guess they're on again. I can never keep up."

Clarke frowned. "So they're dating?"

"I would not call anything my brother does dating. He and Roma have been on and off since we started the show, but I'm pretty sure they've never gone on a date. If you get my drift…"

Clarke was thankful for the darkness that hid the rush of blood to her face. Oh. She shifted in her seat, wishing her throat didn't feel like it was lined with sandpaper. She managed to croak, "I guess I do now."

"Don't worry, he never tries to sleep with his partner. At least I don't think so. I mean, Erin is hot as hell and he didn't try anything with her." Octavia smiled at her. Clarke was sure her words were meant to assuage her fears of unwanted advances, but they merely made Clarke uncomfortable. Actually, anything that made her think of Bellamy Blake's sex life was currently making her extremely uncomfortable.

"No need worry about him trying anything on me," she finally told Octavia, fighting to keep her tone level.

Octavia tilted her head while peering at Clarke, her deep blue eyes narrowing. "You don't like my brother very much, do you?"

Clarke snorted, "More like the other way around. Your brother despises me. It's a miracle we can appear in public without him running away from me in disgust."

The brunette sighed and picked at invisible lint on her dark wash jeans. "That's just Bell's deep seated dislike of anyone he thinks had it easy. Our childhood sucked ass and he's never really been able to move past some of the feelings it left us with. I mean I know it sucked way more for him than me. I was too young to know what was going on and then Bell was taking care of me. I still don't know everything that went down. Doubt Bell will ever tell me…"

Clarke set her book back in her purse and moved to sit next to Octavia on the stage. Octavia's dark hair had fanned across her face as she stared down at her hands. "So how'd you guys end up here?"

"A shit ton of luck and a fuck ton of work," Octavia replied with a wry smile. "I knew I wanted to be a dancer from the minute I took my first ballet class in fifth grade. I was behind. Prima ballerinas get started at birth these days, you know. But I realized I didn't need to be some ballet dancer at ABT or anything, I just needed to be dancing. So I took all the lessons I could afford, which wasn't much until I started teaching the kids classes at a studio and the managers let me take my own classes for free and gave me whatever extra studio time they had. Most kids were studying late for the SAT or shit like that in high school, I was at the studio until 2 AM working on dance steps."

"And Bellamy?" Clarke prompted. The official bios for Bellamy and Octavia had been exceptionally brief and gave no real history before their career as professional dancers began.

Octavia laughed. "Bell was pissed as fuck that I wanted to dance instead of do school. But I dragged him to one my recitals early in high school and he realized I had some honest to God talent. My studio managers mentioned to us afterward that there's some money to be made in professional ballroom if you're good enough. Bell was considering joining the Army at that point to get some cash. He never finished high school with all the shit that went down with our mom, you see. Anyway, he started coming to the studio more and working with me late at night. Turned out he was pretty talented too… even more than me."

Clarke stared at the girl beside her. Her gut twisted in a mix of burning envy and deep admiration. The Blake siblings had clearly been through hell to get where they were. Yet most of the time Octavia exuded a carefree spirit that gave no hint of her troubled past. She supposed Bellamy was different. Now that she had a more informed perspective, she could see how she rubbed him the wrong way. She could understand the steely glint in his eyes might not be the dislike she had taken it for, but a guardedness that he needed to face the world. A tingling on her face had Clarke looking up to find Octavia watching her with a wary expression as if she worried she had shared too much.

Clarke looked back down at her shoes and asked the first thing that came to mind. "Did you finish high school?"

"Nah." Octavia shook her head, still looking uncertain. "By the time I was sixteen it made more sense for Bell and I to be competing and teaching. School is great and all, but it doesn't bring in the cash when you need it."

"I can understand that." Octavia visibly relaxed at her words and Clarke added a small smile to show her understanding. "I always wanted to be a dancer, at least since I started dancing again in college, but there way no way in hell that was in the stars for me."

Octavia pursed her lips as she hugged her legs up to her chest. She dropped her head to her knees, staring at Clarke from beneath her dark hair. "What do you mean? Can't you do whatever the hell you want?"

"No. Don't get me wrong. I have the door to a million and one opportunities open for me, but only the right sort of opportunities. I know being a dancer doesn't seem like a big deal, but as far as my mother is concerned I have three possible career paths: doctor, lawyer or politician. So I chose doctor. At least I can actually help people with that option."

"So what happens when you do something else? It's not like she's going to have you killed or anything…"

Clarke frowned. She'd never really considered the possibility of doing something else with her life. Sure, she'd pined for a life where her mother didn't dictate her responsibilities. A life where she could choose a profession and find a husband who was interested in her because of her ideas and passions not because he was "what she needed." Despite those thoughts, she'd never seriously considered going a different route. "I'm not sure. I mean I'm financially independent from her for the most part. I got a few scholarships for med school and the rest has been taken out in loans, which is going to suck when I finish but is better than owing her."

"So essentially nothing is stopping you from quitting med school and doing something you actually want to do?"

Clarke twisted her fingers together, picking at a hangnail on her pinky. A glance at Octavia reassured her that the other woman wasn't judging her, but was merely curious. "It's complicated. My dad was so happy when I told him I was going to med school. He was always so interested in helping people and I know he was super proud his daughter was going to do the same."

The entire country knew that Clarke's father had died two weeks after the election. It had been all over every news outlet in the world. Pictures of Clarke and her mother dressed in black with dark veils pulled over their faces had painted the town for weeks. It had been a little over two years, but Clarke still tried to avoid the topic with anyone but Wells. If Octavia noticed her discomfort, she didn't let on. She simply moved to rest her chin between her knees and said, "There are lots of different ways to help people, Clarke. Being a doctor is only one of them. I think your dad would be proud of you regardless of which way you choose."

Staring into Octavia's haunting blue eyes, Clarke couldn't find it within herself to disagree. She had always thought she needed to finish the path she had started for her father, but would Jake Griffin really be happy knowing his daughter was sacrificing her own happiness to please a ghost of him in the back of her mind? A week ago, Clarke would have thought that question was absurd. A year ago she would not have thought to ask the question.

She was startled from her thoughts by Octavia touching her arm. "You deserve to be happy, Clarke. Just like everyone else."

Clarke's reply was cut off by the appearance of Bellamy out of the blackness beyond the stage. She tried not to notice the way that her pulse leapt at the sound of his deep voice as he peered out over the stage.

"O? Is that you?"

"Yup," Octavia called back. "And Clarke."

He strode over to them, thankfully now wearing a black t-shirt in addition to his dark slacks. Clarke could not handle seeing those rippling muscles right now. He slung a black leather jacket over his shoulder as he stared down at Octavia. "Everything okay here?"

Octavia rolled her eyes at him and pushed to her feet. "Clarke doesn't bite, Bell. Jeez. Also, next time you and Roma decide to have after show sex, don't do it in the guest dressing room."

Bellamy stared at her for a beat before turning his incredulous gaze on Clarke. She felt her face burning, but met his gaze full on while rising to her feet. Once standing, she turned to Octavia and gave her a small smile. "Good to meet you, Octavia. I'm going to go get my cell phone now."

Clarke leveled Bellamy with a meaningful glare before turning toward the backstage tunnel and marching away from them. As she entered the tunnel she could just catch the beginning of their conversation.

"Shit, O, did she…?"

"Walk in on you doing the dirty with Roma? Why yes, Bell. When you have sex in public places, other people do tend to wander in…"

"Fuck…"

"Let's just get home, idiot brother of mine."

In the darkness of the hallway, Clarke couldn't help smirking. At least he felt some of the vast discomfort that had been gifted to her in the form of the image of Roma writhing against him. At least she hadn't actually walked in on the sex part. That would have been truly mortifying. Although, a little voice buried deep in her head argued, it would have been nice to see where the enticing planes of his back led. All those years of dance had gifted him with a gorgeously curved ass.

Clarke shook her head. She was not going to stand in a dark corridor thinking about Bellamy Blake's ass. That was equal parts humiliating and creepy. Pushing those images to the back of her mind, she hurried back to the dressing room. Time to get her phone, find her way back through the maze of LA to her hotel room and collapse in bed.

S~*~S

The cliffs lining the Pacific Coast Highway raced by as Clarke rounded another curve in the red Mustang Convertible. When she'd first seen the car at the rental office at LAX, she'd had half a mind to request an exchange. Now that she was flying around the curves of Malibu in the sunny and 75 degree weather that never seemed to miss a beat she was grateful she'd kept the car.

When she'd asked around at the hotel for the best beach a girl in bright green flip flops and a flowing yellow sundress had directed her to Pointe Dume and Zuma Beach. Bright smile illuminated in neon orange lipstick she'd assured Clarke that it was off the beaten path and that the water was swimmable if you could stomach the cold March temperatures flowing down along the Alaskan current.

"So you actually walked in on them having sex?"

Wells' static infused voice vibrated over the car speakers. She'd figured that the forty-five minute drive was better spent chatting with Wells than replaying the scene from last night over and over again. She'd tried to asleep as soon as she returned to the hotel, but despite her exhaustion, flashes of olive skin and dark eyes had kept her up until nearly 4 AM. Clarke didn't get it. She didn't even like Bellamy. He had done next to nothing to make her want to be in the same room as him, let alone find him attractive. Objectively speaking she had to admit he was gorgeous, but Clarke went for more than looks when it came to attraction. She shook her head, her long hair dancing in the air crashing over the convertible. This was stupid. She had already spent way too much time thinking about that asshole.

"No, Wells, they were not having sex. At least not yet. Thank god. I would have been scarred for life."

Wells' crackly laugh washed over her. "Just wait until I tell my mother! She's always wondering whether Bellamy and Roma are a couple."

"They're not a couple," Clarke replied and then proceeded to grimace. She didn't need Wells thinking she actually cared about Bellamy Blake's relationship status. "At least that's what Octavia says."

"Octavia Blake?"

"Yeah. She's pretty cool. Way more awesome than her brother. I seriously don't understand how they share the same genes."

"They're both dark, tall and gorgeous. I may be a guy, Clarke, but even I know that Bellamy Blake is drool worthy. And Octavia's just hot."

Clarke's face contorted in disgust. "Gross, Wells. Octavia's a person, not an object."

"You have to give me a break, Clarke. I only see them on TV," he countered.

"Hmm. True," she replied absently as she looked for the sign for Point Dume. Her GPS was telling her to turn soon. As she rounded a bend, the sign appeared along with a left turn lane into the beach. Being Tuesday morning there was no shortage of parking along the roadway running parallel to the beach. Clarke pulled as far forward as she could without paying the parking fee and raised the roof of the convertible.

"Wells, I've got to go enjoy some sunlight before I'm stuck in torture sessions with Blake the giant asshole for the rest of the day."

"He can't possibly be all that bad, Clarke. Try to give him a chance. I know how judgmental you can be."

Clarke glared at the speakers. "Fine. I'll see you when you come visit for the Week 4 show?"

"If you make it that far, Griffin. But yeah, I've booked the tickets and all the security has been coordinated."

Clarke allowed herself a wild grin in the confines of the car. Just three more weeks and she would have Wells at her side again. So far LA had been an isolating and lonely place. A familiar face in this wasteland of dreams would be much appreciated.

"I can't wait. Talk to you later. And Wells? I miss you so much!"

"Miss you too, Clarke," he replied before the speaker beeped and went silent.

Clarke sighed and stared out at the rolling waves of the Pacific Ocean. She'd been further apart from Wells than this, but surrounded by the flair of Hollywood and inundated by doubts about her life, she felt far more than an seven hour plane flight away. She felt like she'd been shipped off to a distant planet and told all the rules she'd taken for granted were mere figments of her imagination. Taking a deep breath, Clarke shook her head. This was the only chance she was going to have to relax, so she damn well better make good use of it.

She grabbed a bottle of sunblock and her beach bag from the back seat before heading out in search of a patch of warm sand. A few girls were out in bikinis, running freely and laughing as they attempted to play volleyball amongst themselves. A little further down an elderly gentleman had set up a rainbow umbrella and was sitting in beach chair sipping something that looked more potent than lemonade. Clarke rolled her eyes. It was only 10 AM, not quite a socially acceptable drinking hour. But she supposed if you had the time to just sit at the beach all day, nothing was going to dictate your drinking schedule either.

She moved further down the beach from the umbrella man until she found a quiet section with only mid-morning joggers passing through. She laid out her brightly striped beach towel before plopping down and kicking off her flip-flops. The steady roar of the ocean filled her ears as she eased back on the towel. She could get used to this.

S~*~S

After the morning at the beach Clarke felt rejuvenated and even more reluctant to step into their rehearsal studio. She glanced down at her sheer black batwing pullover and neon orange sports bra and sighed. She hated dancing with the pullover on; it got stuck at the worst possible times and acted as a giant blanket that threatened to smother her when they really got working. But after walking in on him with Roma she couldn't find the courage to take it off. Clarke hadn't been actively athletic in years and where hard muscle had once shown on her abdomen, a thin layer of fat had moved in. Usually she hardly noticed the difference, but being surrounded by professional dancers had a way of changing your perspective on body appearance. Especially when your partner was involved with one of the most gorgeous women you had ever seen.

Clarke moved to grasp the door handle just as Bellamy swung it open from the inside. His eyes widened for a second before a smirk spread across his face. "Princess. So nice of you to join us. I was getting worried."

She scoffed as she moved into the studio, doing her best to ignore Wick and the other cameramen. She dumped her bag next to the stairs and turned to Bellamy. "I was like 15 seconds late, Blake."

He made a noise that might have been a murmured agreement before walking over and ducking his head, confronting her with the rich chocolate of his eyes. Her breath hiccupped, but she remained otherwise unaffected by his foray into her personal space. She could count the freckles on his nose at this distance. Hell, she could even make out individual eyelashes above his gleaming chocolate eyes. Her focus was hypnotically drawn to the small scar above his lip. She was about to lean closer to study it when he put a hand on her shoulder, warm fingers sending shockwaves through her entire body and jolting her back to reality. In a hushed voice he asked, "Are we good? O said I should apologize for last night."

As he finished the question, his proximity made more sense. Neither of them wanted the camera crew overhearing this conversation. She tilted her head so their eyes met. His chocolate orbs were impenetrable, but they lacked much of their usual venom. He probably wasn't the least bit sorry, but she was glad that Octavia had at least brought up the idea of an apology. She shrugged, inadvertently knocking his hand off her shoulder. The sudden coldness was almost as much of a shock as the initial heat. Damn it. She really needed to stop obsessing over these things. Still meeting his penetrating gaze, she nodded. "We're cool. I barely saw anything."

He stared at her for a moment longer before retreating to a more comfortable distance. "This week we have a swing dance to 'Big and Bad' by Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. You ready to get thrown around, Princess?"

She met his challenging look with a smirk of her own. "I'd like to see you try."

"Good," he smiled and her breath caught in her throat. It was the second time he had let his features relax around her and she couldn't help but be awed by the change. His mouth was turned up in a boyish grin that made him look a decade younger and a million times happier. His eyes sparkled with mirth as he held out his hand to her. "Let's kick some ass, Princess."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: "Hell is empty and all the devils are here" - The Tempest**

Clarke bounced up and down on the hotel bed as she clutched her phone to her ear. "When do you get in again?"

The distorted sound of Wells' laughter filtered through the small speaker. "I've told you a million times. My flight gets in to LAX at noon. Then I'm going to visit a friend in Brentwood before heading over to the Studio for the show tonight."

She glanced at the glowing green numbers of the clock on the end table. "It's 9 already here. You must be in the air already?"

"Yup. I promise I'll call you again as soon as I land. Now go, you have to live up to super star status tonight."

"At least dancing with Nathan is significantly less stressful than dancing with Bellamy."

"But not nearly as hot."

She glared at the phone. "Shut the hell up, Wells. I am enjoying my week away from Blake. Have a safe flight and I can't wait to see you!"

"I still think you're in denial if last week's dancing is anything to go by, but okay. I'll see you soon."

She rolled her eyes at the empty room. "It's called acting, Wells. See you soon."

Pressing the end button, she flopped back on to the bed. Ever since their Foxtrot that earned them three 10s and a 9, Wells had got it into his head that Bellamy and Clarke might have more between them than just some chemistry. She couldn't deny that the whole dance had set her soul on fire. From the flowing blue lace dress to the feeling of Bellamy's breath hovering millimeters from her lips, his choreography had pulled her into the moment. But it was just one minute and fifteen seconds worth of moment, nothing more.

During their second week, they had fallen into a more relaxed pattern. He had eliminated his cutting remarks during rehearsals although he still called her Princess at every available moment. The knowing glances Octavia sent them when they passed her in the halls made Clarke think his sister was the cause of his change in attitude. With the combative tension between them reduced, they were able to be significantly more productive on the dance floor. The swing dance had been full of difficult lifts and throws that made Clarke nauseous when practiced at too high a frequency. Nevertheless, Bellamy's sure grip and steady hands had led her all the way through the athletic routine that earned them two 8s and a 9, tying them for first on the leaderboard with both Lincoln and Roma and Nyko and Charlotte.

She had come in the next Tuesday feeling more confident in her dancing and her partnership. Bellamy might be a total ass, but she needed him. He had the ability to push her beyond her comfort zone and force her into new experiences she would never have agreed to without his watchful gaze urging her onward.

He had walked into the studio that Tuesday and stared at her until she thought she'd explode as she fidgeted under his burning gaze. Only then had he announced, "This week, Princess, we're going to fall in love."

Her jaw had dropped and only after she registered his deep chuckle had she understood he was talking in the context of their dance. Cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and something she was unwilling to identify, Clarke had let him lead her through the choreography of love that he'd created. There really was no other way to describe what he'd done for them. Each movement had caused an ache deep in her soul and burned through her core. With luxurious choreography and long penetrating gazes, they had brought love to life to the stirring strains of John Legend's "All of Me."

She knew that each time she heard the song she would be unable to think of anything but Bellamy's intense eyes boring through her soul and into her very being. She had told Wells it was just acting and it was, but Bellamy was digging deeper into her psyche than Clarke had ever dared to explore and he was shaping her into something beyond her wildest dreams. She couldn't imagine going back to the dull world of memorizing medical terminology and late nights in the lab running experiments on genetically identical mice. That world was full of grays, like Kansas before Dorothy was swept away to Oz. Bellamy had pulled her into the world of Technicolor and horses of a different color.

Clarke flung the hotel pillow over her face to smother the frustrated scream that ripped through her throat. She almost wished she'd never joined the show. Then she'd have no idea what she was missing and life could go on in all its Technicolorless glory.

At least this week she'd had a break from Bellamy and all of the unwanted and unprecedented feelings he evoked within her. It was switch up night on the show for Week 4 and the fans had voted to pair her with Nathan Miller. Bellamy had been put with Raven Reyes, making it a clean partner swap between them. Where Bellamy was passion and raw intensity, Nathan was clean edges and perfect technique. Their Argentine Tango to Alex Clare's "Too Close" was full of precise staccato movements and sharp intensity. Dancing it made Clarke feel as if she was simply a blur of sharp edges and stops.

Bellamy and Raven's Jive was more light hearted and although Clarke could admit she was a little jealous of Raven for getting Bellamy this week, she was thankful for the new perspective Nathan had given her. He had helped to hone her technique and she knew that the skills she had developed would come in handy as she and Bellamy danced together again next week. That is, if she made it to next week. Damn this stupid reality show for depending on fan voting. After the first week, she had tried to follow Bellamy's lead and appear more approachable to the audience back home. Wells assured her that the chemistry between Bellamy and herself was more than enough to get them voted into the next week, but Clarke was never one to do anything halfway. She wanted more than just a few steamy looks on the dance floor to be the cause for her progress.

Her phone beeped as a message from Octavia flashed across the screen. Ready to kill it tonight, Griffin? See you at dress rehearsal in a few hours.

Clarke grinned. After the Bellamy/Roma incident at the studio, Octavia had gone out of her way to spend more time with Clarke. She had even joined Clarke and Lincoln for lunch on days that their rehearsal schedules overlapped although Clarke was willing to bet a fair sum of money that Octavia had stopped coming for Clarke about the second day they all met for lunch. Her vivid blue eyes flashed with excitement whenever she met the football kicker's eyes and Clarke was pretty sure they had exchanged phone numbers somewhere around lunch meeting four. All things considered, it was fairly kind of Lincoln and Octavia to keep including Clarke in their lunches.

Atom had improved vastly from week one and Lincoln was still chasing Clarke, Raven and Charlotte at the top of the leader board, so it seemed their tradition would last a few more weeks. Octavia had mentioned having a slight crush on Atom during the first week of training, but ever since she'd met Lincoln there had been radio silence on that front. Clarke was happy for her new friends and grateful that she'd taken a chance on them. Somehow both Lincoln and Octavia had wormed their way into her heart before she even realized how much they meant to her.

It was comforting to have familiar faces in the crowd during the show. If her nerves were getting her down, one look from Octavia reassured her that she wasn't alone. The only thing neither Octavia nor Lincoln managed to do for Clarke was mitigate the effect of one Bellamy Blake. It seemed she was doomed to be hyper sensitive to every little expression that crossed that man's face.

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut and groaned. She was thinking of Bellamy again. It was like a bad habit that she just couldn't seem to shake. She had dress rehearsal and a performance today that were nearly Bellamy free, so why the hell was she unable to get his dark passionate expressions from their Foxtrot out of her head? It had been a week now and she really, really needed to give her full attention to Nathan tonight.

"Just breathe, Clarke," she murmured to herself as she pushed off the bed and headed for the bathroom. Brush teeth, wash face, apply basic makeup, put on street clothes then drive to studio. She could do that without thinking about Bellamy fucking Blake every other minute.

S~*~S

The television blocking and dress rehearsal went smoothly. There were a few moments where either a dance step went awry or the initial blocking just didn't work, but nothing unusual for the show. Octavia and Lincoln invited Clarke to join them for a Jamba Juice run afterward, but Clarke declined. They deserved to spend some quality time alone. She wandered back to one of the rehearsal studios to find some peace and quiet after checking the voicemail from Wells that assured her he'd made it off the plane and was enroute to his friend's house in Brentwood. After that she switched her phone to silent, turning off the vibration noise on the alerts and picking her book out of her bag. The show was always a rush of pure panic and adrenaline and she wanted to get a few hours of relaxation before the chaos hit.

When the door banged open an hour or so later, Clarke thought nothing of it. Likely just another performer coming to warm up in the studio. She didn't look up from her book until she heard Maya utter her name in a strained voice.

Maya was staring at her like the apocalypse had come. Her face was bloodless and her pale hands twisted in front of her. A second later the door behind her banged open again and Bellamy flew into the room rushing toward Clarke with an expression on his face that made Clarke's stomach churn with dread.

Maya finally found her voice and croaked out, "Your mother's on the phone."

Clarke stared at her in confusion before realizing that Maya's hands had been twisting around a cell phone, which she now extended toward Clarke. Bellamy grabbed the phone from Maya's hands and thrust it at Clarke. His dark eyes oozed pain as he held her gaze, barely blinking.

She raised the phone to her ear. "Mom?"

"Clarke," her mother's voice hissed softly over the phone, but was unmistakably raw with emotion. "Have you heard, honey?"

Clarke keep looking into Bellamy's eyes, trying to ground herself in his dark stare. "Heard what, mom?"

Bellamy flinched at her question and a bolt of pure terror rushed down her spine. Her mother's voice floated to her ear as if from another world, "Wells, Clarke. Wells is dead."

One second she was standing and the next Bellamy's strong arms were catching her and carrying her to the stairs. Maya said something, but Clarke couldn't hear over the roaring in her ears. She knew her mouth was moving, likely even shaping words, but she had no idea what she was saying. Bellamy's breath was hot against the back of her neck and she dimly registered him speaking to Maya.

"I've got this. Go get Octavia," he said in a rough voice, his fingers digging into Clarke's sides. He moved her to sit next to him on the steps before framing her face with rough palms. He ducked his head to meet her bleary stare, dark curls falling into his eyes. His hands trembled against her face as he spoke, "Clarke?"

She forced a controlled breath through her lungs. The air in her lungs seemed to burn her from the inside out and her limbs felt like gravity had been erased and tripled simultaneously. Her vision was swimming before her eyes, the only constant Bellamy's deep chocolate stare. His freckles danced like constellations in a foreign night sky. She knew something was horribly wrong, but some primal part of her was blocking that knowledge. She was drifting out to the edge of the universe or maybe through the event horizon of a black hole. Time was stopping and elongating, distorting her into something unrecognizable, something inhuman and empty.

She was shaking, she noticed. Wait. Bellamy was shaking her with his warm hands on her shoulders. She felt her head listlessly rolling with his movements, but had no desire to resume control over her body. For a moment she was completely still, like a lake on a windless day, and then she was surrounded by hot fire. Distantly she realized Bellamy had gathered her in his arms, rocking her slowly as if she were a child. A bang sounded in the distance, but Clarke barely heard the noise. Moments later distorted voices reached her ears as if she were deep under water.

"How is she, Bell?"

"Bad, O."

"They're not canceling the show. Some bullshit about too much of a loss in production costs. No one's even going to be watching… not with this news all over the TV. They are delaying an hour. Just one fucking hour."

Warm arms tightened around her. "They want her to dance? Are they fucking sadistic?"

"That's what I said. They offered her a withdrawal from the show. It's that or dance. Fucking bullshit, Bell."

"Fucking hell, O. They want the media attention, don't they? They're going to use her to increase ratings. Those sons of bitches."

"Calm the fuck down, Bell. You're not going to be any use to Clarke or anyone else if you're spitting mad."

"Fine," he murmured against Clarke's ear. "How long to do we have?"

"Two hours."

"Get Miller in here."

"You want her to dance?"

His hand caressed her hair, tugging gently at the blonde locks. "That's up to her."

The door banged again and Bellamy shifted her in his lap. The disembodied feeling still pervaded Clarke, but her level of conscious thought was rising. She remembered the hoarse voice of her mother on the phone. She remembered the exact moment her brain processed her mother's words. The pain was still there, but had numbed for the moment. The medical part of her brain realized she was suffering from minor mental shock, but reassured her that she was fine and safe. But how could she ever be fine and safe in a world without Wells? She shuddered in Bellamy's arms, tears finally flooding her eyes. His deep voice whispered disjointed words into her hair as he pulled her closer to his chest.

Time had no meaning and Clarke had no idea how long he held her before the tears subsided from a torrent to a trickle and she finally met Bellamy's deep stare with clear eyes.

"I'll dance."

He searched her face, looking for signs of doubt before nodding at her. "Okay. I wasn't sure you were listening."

"I wasn't, not really," she replied, wiping at her eyes. "But I could hear you. Thank you. You didn't need to help me. You don't even like me."

"Clarke." His voice was strained and held a serious edge she hadn't heard before. "That I have issues with your background is my problem, not yours. You are an amazing woman and I apologize if I ever made you feel otherwise."

She frowned at him, momentarily shaken out of the staggering grief. "I thought you hated me."

He slid his eyes over to hers before glancing straight ahead. He shifted to sit next to her, leaving his arm absently rubbing comforting circles into her back. "I'm not going to lie, I do hate what you stand for. I hate the privileged. The people who have never had to worry about their next meal, or if they can sleep in a bed or if they have access the medical care needed to treat them."

He sighed, running his free hand through his curls. "O and I grew up with nothing, Clarke. God damn nothing. Our mother, she tried to raise us right. But both our fathers were never in the picture and she couldn't make it out of the underworld. I'm sure I was an accident, same with O. Not to say she didn't love us, she loved us more than anything. That I'm sure about. But she didn't know how to raise kids, how to hold down a normal job. So she rented by the hour in our house with her kids in the room upstairs."

At this point he glanced at Clarke sharply. "O doesn't know. And she's never going to."

Clarke nodded. "I get that."

"So when I look at you, I see everything I ever wanted for Octavia, but never came close to getting." His dark eyes gleamed with pain before he looked away from her.

"I get that too." Clarke looked down at the ground. The glinting screen of a cell phone caught her eye and suddenly the grief was back full fold, embracing her in its icy darkness, pulling her apart limb by limb. She choked, nausea sweeping through her. "I'm going to…"

Bellamy had her on her feet in an instant, half carrying half dragging her across the room to the trash bin by the door. As soon as he let her drop to her knees beside it, violent heaves wracked her body. She vaguely realized that he was holding her hair back with one hand and rubbing her back with the other as her stomach contents abandoned her. When she was left with just dry heaves shuddering through her body, she relaxed back into his arms.

He pulled her to her feet again and moved them away from the pungent rubbish bin. Once back at the steps he thrust a tissue box at her. "Here."

"Thanks. God. I'm sorry…"

He shrugged. "I practically raised O. I've seen all kinds of messy."

As if summoned, Octavia rushed through the door with Nathan Miller in tow. She eyed Bellamy briefly, having some sort of silent sibling conversation that was indecipherable to Clarke. After nodding to her brother, she turned to Clarke. "You sure you want to do this?"

Clarke took in Nathan's shell-shocked expression before nodding. "Yeah. I want to do this."

Bellamy rose to his feet, pulling Clarke with him. Together they walked toward Octavia and Nathan. Once they were standing within arm's reach of Nathan, Bellamy took her hand, giving her fingers a quick squeeze before extending their hands to Nathan.

"Take care of her," he ordered, cold steel in his voice. As Nathan took her hand, Bellamy brought his up to caress her cheek. "I'm not going anywhere. O and I will be right here. Whatever you need, we're here for you."

Clarke chased his dark stare all the way to the step he sat on, sitting knee to knee with Octavia. The Blakes as her guardian angels. Who would have guessed?

S~*~S

The rest of the night was a blur interspaced with moments of such cruel clarity that Clarke wished only for oblivion. The dance with Nathan was done through a mix of autopilot, muscle memory and sheer power of will. The intensity of the tango matched the violence of her current emotions and she let some of her pain bleed out into her staccato moments and severe poses. The end result must have been impressive since they received three 10s and a 9 for their effort.

The post dance interview with Erin Andrews had been especially grueling and Clarke was sure she would never had made it through without Bellamy steadfastly clasping her hand, never moving away from her. Clarke was pretty sure Erin had mentioned something about her "loss," but Bellamy and Nathan had handled the entire interview and Erin had enough class not to broach the subject again.

Afterwards, Octavia had marched into the dressing room, gathered Clarke's belongings and announced that she was going to be spending the night at the Blakes' residence. Clarke had opened her mouth to argue before realizing that an empty hotel room was not a healthy choice for tonight. Instead, she murmured a quiet acceptance and followed Octavia out of the dressing room and into the back of a black jeep with Bellamy at the wheel. A short drive into the hills found them at a smallish house overlooking the glittering lights of Hollywood and the metropolis that was LA. Despite the modest size, only three bedrooms and two bathrooms, Clarke knew the house must have cost a fortune. Apparently professional dancing could be more lucrative than she thought.

As if recognizing her thoughts, Bellamy moved to stand beside her, his dark eyes sparkling in the light of the city. "It's not what you think. The house was given to us by one of O's former partners. I hated it, but O convinced me that some gift horses really are best not looked in the mouth."

"Ah." Clarke wasn't sure what else to say. She and Bellamy had just been through an intense emotional experience and she hadn't had time to recategorize their relationship. She was saved from an extended silence that was headed toward awkward by Octavia joining them at the balcony doors.

"I set up the guest room for you. It's the last door down the hallway, right next to my bathroom. Extra towels are in the closet in the bathroom and I put a few extra blankets next to the bed. I know it's not DC-like here, but houses in Southern California have super shitty insulation and only single plane windows so it can get a bit chilly this time of year." Octavia paused and studied Clarke, her intense blue eyes searching Clarke's face. Apparently satisfied, she smiled and stuck out her hand. "I'll show you the way."

Giving a helpless shrug in Bellamy's direction, Clarke took her hand and let Octavia lead her to the bedroom. The delicate lace curtains hanging across the large windows complemented the cornflower blue bedspread and pillows with matching lace trim. Octavia pointed to the oak dresser next to the bed.

"I leave a few extra t-shirts and sleep pants in there just in case. If the shirts don't fit, I think there're a few of Bellamy's as well. Anything else I can get you?"

"No, but thank you. You've been too kind, Octavia."

"I've been the exact right amount of kind, Clarke."

Clarke twisted her fingers, unsure of what to say. She settled for another murmured thank you. After that Octavia slipped out the door, pulling it shut behind her. Clarke was left with the roar of grief in her ears and the swell of exhaustion in her bones. She dropped onto the bed and instantly the tears surged fourth like the ocean at high tide. This time there were no body wrenching sobs, only wet rivers of grief.

Every moment with Wells flashed through her mind from their misadventures of childhood in New York to their post-college hijinks in DC. She was simultaneously laughing at his fifth grade banana split Halloween costume and grimacing at the one and only time he thought kissing Clarke was a good idea. He was everywhere in her head and yet somehow nowhere on Earth. She still couldn't process it. Some part of her brain refused to accept the facts and yet in her soul she felt a wound that could only stem from the truth of his loss.

She swiped at the salty trails running down her cheeks. This was not working. She needed to do something, anything, to keep herself sane. Turning to the dresser, she pulled the top drawer open. True to Octavia's word, the drawer contained several t-shirts and pairs of loose cotton pants. Stripping off her tight jeans, Clarke pulled on a stretchy pair of black yoga pants before eyeing the shirts. While she wasn't that much larger than Octavia, the smaller t-shirts would be indecently tight in the chest, so she opted for a larger blue shirt with the Sierra Nevada Brewing Company logo on the front. As she pulled the shirt over her head a wave of sandalwood washed over her. In its wake her body relaxed a hair, finding comfort in the scent. Not just the scent of sandalwood, Clarke realized, but the scent of Bellamy. Even his shirt was trying to hold her pieces together she thought wryly and then instantly groaned. God, what was she thinking? A logical corner of her brain reminded her that she'd been through some intense trauma today and that she should probably reserve self-judgment for another point in time.

Huffing to herself, she pulled back the cornflower comforter and slipped into the bed. The glittering lights of LA danced behind the lace curtains when she pulled the cord on the ornate ceramic lamp on the bedside table. So many people going so many places, but now one was missing. Ignoring the steady flow of moisture falling to the pillow, Clarke curled into a ball and tried to find a moment of peace.

S~*~S

Clarke startled awake with ice scraping through her veins, burning her inside out. She knew without a doubt that something was horribly wrong, but what stayed terrifyingly beyond her grasp. Taking heaving breaths she looked around her, taking in the lacy curtains hanging in front of the lights of the LA basin and the foreign bedroom. Where was she? The Blakes' house. Why was she here? Like a flaming arrow through its target the truth ripped through her. Wells.

She had no idea how she had fallen asleep. She assumed the exhaustion had momentarily outweighed the constant and incessant scream of grief vibrating through every fiber of her being. Now that the exhaustion had lost, there was no way she was getting any more rest.

Wrapping one of the extra blankets Octavia had left around her shoulders she made her way out the door, taking care to tread softly. Bellamy and his sister had already gone through too much trouble for her today. Once in the main living area, she made a beeline for the kitchen and began searching the cabinets for a water glass.

"To the left of the sink, first shelf."

Her dulled senses prevented the jolt of surprise from affecting Clarke. Instead of crying out or jumping, she merely turned to face Bellamy, who had apparently been sitting on the couch in the living room the whole time.

"Or maybe you need something stronger. Whiskey, Scotch, vodka?"

Clarke considered him for a moment. He had changed into a plain black shirt that displayed the hard planes of his chest even in the dim light of the living room and baggy black pants. His eyebrows were raised in question and a small smirk graced his lips, but Clarke could see his exhaustion in the way his shoulders slumped and the slight drooping of his eyes. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to take all of her problems away from him, to not let her pain taint him.

"Scotch. Neat."

He pushed up from the couch slowly, his dark eyes tracking her as he moved towards the kitchen. As he neared her, he raised his arm as if to touch her before abruptly letting it fall back to his side. He cleared his throat, the noise deafening in the still silence, before moving to grab two tumblers from the cabinet and a bottle of Scotch from the counter. Once he'd poured two fingers apiece, he motioned toward the couch.

"Care to join me?"

Clarke accepted the offered drink and moved to sit on the couch. "Thanks."

"No problem. Sleep wasn't exactly working for me either."

A smile ghosted across her lips for a moment before reality caught up to her. The disturbing realization came that she had no idea how it had happened. "Can I ask you something?"

Bellamy frowned at her, his sharp cheekbones standing out more than usual in the pale moonlight filtering in through the balcony doors. "Probably."

"How did it happen? No one bothered to tell me tonight."

His eyes hardened for a moment before he took a deep breath and leaned toward her, hovering just at the edge of her personal space. She could feel the heat of him leaking into her side like the sun shining on a cloudless day. "It was a young girl. I think they said she was nineteen. Anyway, she was texting with her friend and didn't see the Stop sign, let alone Wells Jaha. She dragged his body under the car for half a block before she realized she'd hit something. One station said she was on her way home from a brunch where she'd been drinking Mimosas, but the police haven't confirmed that. He was pronounced dead at the scene."

Clarke stared at Bellamy barely able to grasp what she was hearing. She had assumed it was an accident, not some sort of assassination, but to learn that his life had been so randomly and needlessly ripped away from her was nearly incomprehensible. "He was here to see me."

Now Bellamy did touch her. His palms were cupping her face before she even felt him move. His thumbs gently caressed the damp trails running down her cheeks. "You did not cause that car to hit him, Clarke. That girl could have hit anybody or nobody. It was an accident and it damn well didn't happen because of you."

"But-"

"No buts," he growled at her. "Clarke. This is not your fault."

She stared into his dark eyes, drinking in the strength of his denial and trying to make it her own. But she couldn't, at least not now. She had brought Wells to LA and in that decision she had brought him to his death. It hardly mattered how he had died she realized. It only mattered that he had died because she had deviated from the path. She had walked away from the life she was supposed to live and in doing so her best friend had died.

"I'm not sure I can believe that right now. Hell, I'm not sure I should be here right now. I should be on a plane to DC. I shouldn't have danced tonight. I should stop all this…"

"What?" His eyes were blown wide and his full lips were pressed into a hard line as he dropped his hand from her face. "What the hell are you talking about, Clarke?"

"If I hadn't done the show… if I'd just been content to do what was expected of me, none of this would have happened. I wasn't strong enough. I let my selfishness take over and now Wells is dead."

One minute Bellamy was staring at her with fiery eyes and the next he was yanking her drink from her hand and pulling her to her feet. Muscle memory took over as he guided her through a series of pirouettes through the living room while skillfully avoiding the furniture. A burst of freedom shot through Clarke as he dipped her low, his strong hands supporting her back as her hair danced over the carpet. Reversing the momentum, he pulled her back to him, sending her careening into his chest. His quick breaths of hot air scorched her neck as he spoke in her ear, strong arms holding her against his heaving chest. "Tell me that didn't make you feel alive. Tell me you have felt something more satisfying than dancing. Tell me you were not born to dance. I dare you to lie to me."

Clarke's blood pounded in her ears, mixing with his breathless rasp. God. Bellamy Blake had the power to tear her apart. With his powerful frame searing into her body, she could barely think coherently, but she was aware enough to know that he was right. She had never felt this way doing anything but dance. Not even in the throes of passion. And if dance electrified her senses, then dancing with Bellamy electrocuted them. She clung to him now, her small hands clutching at his defined biceps. Clarke tilted her head back to stare at him as she hoarsely whispered, "I can't."

His fingers dug further into her back as if he was afraid she was going to slip away from him. He let his head dip forward until his forehead rested against hers, his black curls teasing her skin. "Then don't lie to yourself."

His luminous chocolate eyes were millimeters from her own and Clarke could make out her own distorted reflection in their depths. For a moment, she balanced on the precipice, not knowing which direction she was going to fall. Then, without any conscious decision, the wind fell out of her sails and she collapsed against Bellamy. He caught her easily and lifted her in his arms before settling her back on the soft blue couch.

"I got you."

His deep voice pulled her back from the raging river of grief that had surged over her during the collapse. Her tears were back full strength and she wiped madly at them, wishing that she was anywhere but this moment. He caught her wrist before she could scratch further at her eyes. Clarke strained against his grip, but he was unyielding as an iron statue. Looking desperately up at him, she croaked, "I just want it stop. I can't keep feeling this way. Not again."

He studied her for a moment, his dark gaze peeling away the layers of her soul, before pursing his lips and nodding to himself. "Your dad."

"They were arguing about me when he died. My mother wasn't going to ever tell me, but one day I made her so mad she screamed it right at me."

His iron grip on her wrists loosened as he began to caress her forearms, sending sporadic bursts of warmth down her spine. "That was an accident too, Clarke. I read all the articles. It was a drunk driver. There was no way your dad could have seen the guy coming."

Clarke slipped further into the depths of misery as she studied Bellamy's earnest face, simultaneously wanting to believe his words and knowing they would never be the truth. "Then why do I feel so damn guilty? For both of them."

"Because you're a good person, Clarke. Your first instinct is to take care of others. When something bad happens, you take responsibility for that too. Even if it's not yours to take. Believe me, I understand." With a long-suffering sigh, he released his grip on her arms and moved to sit beside her on the couch. His eyes burned with grief as they seared into her before abruptly turning to stare out at the city lights.

"Our mother died of breast cancer when I was 18. It was found in the early stages. Early enough that she could have been saved if given the proper medical care. But she didn't have health insurance and I didn't make enough at the auto shop. I kept asking my boss to be brought on full time so I could have full benefits, but he couldn't afford it. It's not that he didn't want to give me the job, but the shop was small and that one change in expense would likely put him under. So I saved every penny I earned. I ate one meal a day and fed Octavia more protein bars than any human could ever happily consume.

"I think she knew something was wrong, but neither mom nor I told her what exactly. At least not in the beginning. After the first year, she was diagnosed when I was 16 and O was 11, it became apparent to her that she had two options. Get the treatment she needed and hope that Medicaid covered it or not spend the money. She chose to stop going to the doctors, insisting it would be better for us.

"I later found out Medicaid would have covered everything. There was no reason for her not to seek treatment. We might have had to pay a few thousand dollars over the years, but we could have handled that. But my mother didn't know and she was so scared that she couldn't protect us that she died at home in horrendous pain.

"You want to play the guilt game, Clarke? Well, you lose. If I had only gone into one of the government offices and asked around. If I had only picked up a phone and called a support line. If I had done anything but be so fucking terrified, my mother would be alive today. So you can try and pin the death of your father and Wells on yourself, but that's bullshit. I helped kill my mother."

As he spat out the last sentence Bellamy turned back to her. His face was a wreck of guilt, grief and anger. His dark eyes glistened with unshed moisture and his lips trembled in silent rage. Clarke knew she was gaping at him, but she couldn't find the power to stop. His pain was rushing off him in waves and spreading across her skin like fire ants. Her chest tightened as she tried to stare back at him without bursting into tears again. He was right. She was taking responsibility for events that were beyond her control. She was forcing her way into these tragedies and making them her own when she had no right. Yes, people she loved at been taken from her, but that was it. She couldn't pretend that she was in Bellamy's shoes.

He remained unmoving and silent as Clarke slowly raised a hand to cup his trembling jaw. At her touch, his muscles clenched, jumping against her warm palm. His stare remained brutally unwavering as she spoke, choosing her words carefully, "I won't claim to have gone through anything like what you have, Bellamy. You're right. I do care and when things go wrong, I often do try to take responsibility. Probably when I shouldn't. Logically, I know both my dad and Wells died in accidents. But if I take responsibility for their deaths, then I don't have to let go either. I can hold on to them. Does that make any sense?"

"No," he ground out, his voice vibrating down her raised arm. "But I think I can understand it. But you have to let go, Clarke. You have to let go of the dead to truly be with the living."

Dropping her hand from his face, she looked down at her lap, unable to endure his scrutiny as she replied, "I promise I'll work on it."

Her drink appeared in front of her. "First things first, drink this. You don't have to figure anything out tonight. I'm sorry I was so harsh with you."

Clarke let her eyes slide over to him briefly. He was staring down into his Scotch as if it held all the answers. His full lips were turned down in a severe frown and his shoulders were slumped forward as if the fight had rushed out of him. For once he appeared merely human to Clarke. He normally exuded such strength that Clarke had forgotten that he was no different than herself, just flesh and blood trying to make it though each day.

"You said things I needed to hear. Don't be sorry about that."

His dark mop bounced as he nodded. "Okay. I'm going to leave you be. Feel free to help yourself to anything, Scotch included."

"Thanks." She watched the muscles of his back ripple as he pushed off the couch. He was almost to the hallway before she spoke again. "And Bellamy? I don't know what I would have done without you tonight. I know things haven't always been good between us, but I want you to know I trust you."

He had paused when she called his name, turning to face her when she continued speaking. As she finished, he remained unmoving and Clarke feared she had said too much. Just as she was about to apologize, he moved toward her, emerging from the darkness of the hallway to the moonlight of the living room. His face was fully illuminated by the blue glow of the moon and she could see his teeth worrying his lower lip. His deep stare was intoxicating as he spoke, "That means a lot to me."

Clarke blinked, the intensity of the moment overwhelming her. Every time she thought she had found a new normal, Bellamy managed to push her further into the deep unknown. He had disappeared when she opened her eyes and for a moment she wondered if it had all been an elaborate dream. She stared down at the amber liquid in her glass before shaking her head. The burning memory of his breath on her ear as he forced her to acknowledge her need for dance was too vivid to be a product of her imagination. She brought the Scotch glass to her lips. Time to see if she could make it through the night.

S~*~S

Clarke shifted uncomfortably in her chair in Maya's office. Maya stood behind her desk reaching over to shake hands with her mother while saying something that had the words "great honor" and "so excited to meet you" mixed together. Upon hearing that Clarke planned to stay in LA and continue on Dancing with the Stars, Abigail Griffin had taken it upon herself to fly cross-country to assess the situation. The only positive part of the current situation was that Bellamy sat directly to her left, his fingers interlaced with hers.

The morning after at the Blakes' house had been surprisingly lacking in any awkward tension. Ever since their late night conversation, Bellamy had been more relaxed in her presence. Clarke suspected that she was now one of the few people from whom Bellamy Blake had no secrets left to hide. At the house, Octavia had made them a pancake breakfast from scratch before reminding them that rehearsals for Disney Night would be getting into full swing later that day. She'd suggested that she go on ahead since her work with Atom couldn't be disrupted while Clarke and Bellamy devised a strategy for "approaching the world." The younger Blake had reminded them that the whole world was going to be looking for a reaction from Clarke since it was a well known fact that she and Wells had been inseparable since childhood. As if to fully substantiate her point, Clarke's cell phone had rung as Octavia was walking out the door. The long conversation with her mother had ended with a fight over Clarke's continued participation in the show and with her mother promising to be in LA by the next morning.

She and Bellamy had made their way to the studio late on Tuesday afternoon. They had avoided the cluster of reporters at the front gates and had spent much of the afternoon putting together their samba to "I Wan'na Be Like You" from The Jungle Book. The lighthearted nature of the song had helped distract both of them from the events of the last 24 hours. Just moving through the dance gave Clarke the moment of peace she had been craving since her mother's fateful phone call. They'd stayed late at the studio, taking extra time to enjoy moving together and playing with different steps. When their muscles could take no more, they'd finally stopped, collapsing on the studio floor shoulder to shoulder. Just listening to Bellamy's heavy breathing at her side and feeling the warmth of his skin percolating into her shoulder had eased her pain more than any glass of Scotch could.

She had insisted on going back to the hotel, but Bellamy would have none of it. He and Octavia had an extra room and there was no way he was letting her spend this period of time alone in a hotel room, not when she could stay with friends. The sound of his deep voice growling out "friends" stayed with her long after the conversation. Aside from a few friends in college that she had lost touch with, Wells had been her only close friend for a long time. It was nice to know that despite his sudden departure from her life, she was not alone.

They had swung by her hotel, packed her things and checked her out. Octavia had apparently already talked to Bellamy because she was pulling a heavenly smelling lasagna out of the oven when they made it back to the house. They had shared a bottle of Merlot over dinner and once again Clarke had felt safer than she had in years. Not since her father had passed away did she remember a meal feeling so much like a real family dinner.

Which brought her back to the present moment as she clung to Bellamy's hand for dear life. Her mother had barely glanced at him as she'd swooped into the room. She must have been paying enough attention to recognize him, but he clearly did not fall into the category of people worthy of her attention. Clarke glared daggers at the back of her mother's head. She had another thing coming if she thought that Bellamy Blake could be ignored.

"Maya, it is Maya right?" her mother began, waving her hand in a dismissing manner as if it didn't really matter what the answer to the question was. Maya stared at the Vice President with wide eyes and gave a meek nod. "It is imperative that Clarke be withdrawn from the show."

Maya gave Clarke a beseeching stare before quietly telling her mother, "I'm afraid that's not within your power to decide, Madam Vice President. Clarke is 26 years old and legally speaking, no one but Clarke can withdraw."

Her mother threw a scowl her direction before turning back to Maya. "There must be something you can do."

Maya shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

"With all due respect, Abigail, it is Abigail isn't it?" Bellamy mocked as he rose to his feet beside Clarke. "It is entirely up to Clarke what she does with her life."

Her mother's eyes flashed dangerously as she rounded on them. "What the hell is he even doing here?"

Clarke could barely restrain the growl that threatened to escape her throat. Instead she surged to her feet in front of Bellamy, putting herself between her mother's caustic stare and his broad chest. "He's my partner, mom. Of course he's here. I'm not going through this experience on my own. I have support."

Abigail's eyes narrowed at Clarke before scanning the man behind her. "Just because you're sleeping together doesn't mean he's going to support you, Honey. I raised you to be smarter than that."

Clarke could feel Bellamy stiffening behind her. Their hands had slipped apart as they stood, but she reached blindly backwards and was gratified to feel his warm palm encompassing hers. She knew he was itching to respond, but Clarke was thankful that he seemed to be leaving this particular battle to her. This was messy enough without him saying something even more incendiary to her mother.

"Mom. Bellamy and I are dance partners. We are not dating, sleeping together or any other sort of couple activity you can think of. We are dancing together." Clarke paused to gauge her mother's reaction. The news that her daughter was not romantically involved with the man looming behind her seemed to throw Abigail off. Clarke ignored the rush of satisfaction that welled up in her chest at that observation. "I love dancing, Mom. I always have. This show is a fantastic way for me to explore that part of my life."

Her mother huffed and came as close to rolling her eyes as Abigail Griffin got. "Please, Clarke, we both know this is just a momentary distraction. You haven't danced since you were a kid. If this is some nostalgia trip you need to take, fine, but when it's done you'll be returning to medical school where you belong. You are not going to end up making a living trying to be one of these… entertainers."

The word was uttered with such vitriol that Clarke flinched. Her face flushed with anger as she stared into her mother's hard eyes. If she had thought they couldn't get further apart, this moment proved her wrong. This was the end of Abigail and Clarke Griffin. Right here and right now.

"Don't you ever speak about my friends like that again. I have danced since childhood, mother. I was in competitive dance troop in college. Nearly a quarter of my college credits came from dance classes. But I never told you because I knew what your reaction would be. And look! I was right. Now get out, mother. Get out of this room and get out of my life. We are done."

Her mother stared at Clarke, her hazel eyes blown wide. Clarke had never spoken to her like that before and she was visibly reeling from the experience. Her features softened as she took a step towards Clarke. "Honey, what about the funeral? I was going to take you back with me… Wells would want you there."

Clarke dropped Bellamy's hand to step forward to meet her mother. They were equal heights so Clarke easily met her mother's pleading stare. "I will go to the funeral, but I'm not coming back with you right now. I am going because of Wells, not you or Thelonious. You will leave me alone during the funeral and you will leave this room before I say something both of us will regret."

A flash of profound sorrow washed over her mother's face before she stiffened her back and the visage of the Vice President wiped away whatever had softened her features. Without another word, her mother swept from the room with a condescending flourish that left Clarke feeling nauseous. The door banged shut and Maya rose to her feet, moving around her desk to put a hand on Clarke's shoulder.

"You okay, Clarke?"

Bellamy's strong hands settled on her shoulders, massaging the taut knots that had sprung up as she faced down her mother. She let out a small sigh as his warm fingers pulled the tension out of her. "No. I mean yes. I'll be okay. Don't worry about me."

"If there's nothing else, we'd like to get to rehearsals?"

Maya nodded at Bellamy. "Of course. Is it okay if the cameras come in today? I was able to talk the producers out of them yesterday, but I'm not sure how much longer I can keep them out."

"Looking at you, Princess."

For once the word didn't rub Clarke the wrong way. In fact, for the first time it filled her with a rush of belonging. A small smile tugged at her lips as she replied, "sure. I can deal with the cameras."

"Thanks. Good luck to both of you."

"Thanks, Maya," Bellamy replied before engulfing Clarke's hand in his own and leading her from the room. Once in the corridor, he pulled her into an unoccupied office down the hall from Maya's door. "Are you sure you're okay with the cameras? I know Maya, Wick, Jasper, Monty and the others are cool, but this is the producers using you to gain publicity for the show."

Clarke sighed and rolled her eyes. "You think I don't know that? I heard you last night. I know you're worried about them using me, but it really doesn't matter. I want to dance and if the price of that right now is a few cameras catching us awkwardly tripping over each other, then that's really a small price to pay. I know what I want, Bellamy."

For a moment, Clarke was blinded by the grin on his face. He was smiling like a five year old on Christmas morning. She admired the way his freckles stretched across his dimpled cheeks and couldn't help thinking that he was extraordinary handsome like this. Bellamy was always attractive, but when this happiness washed over his features, he became nearly irresistible. She was so caught up in her study of him that she nearly didn't hear him speak.

"Good. 'Cause I know I want to dance."

Clarke fought the flush threatening to overtake her pale skin. She should know better than to be caught up in him like that. She hadn't lied to her mother; there was nothing but friendship between Bellamy and herself. If her mind sometimes wandered into the forbidden memories of him ravishing Roma, then it hardly mattered. Nothing was going to come of it. And really, that was fine. That Bellamy believed in her so strongly as a dancer was more than Clarke could ever have wished for. So she met his expectant gaze with a grin of her own as she motioned toward the door. "Lead the way, Mr. Blake."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: "We cannot hold mortality's strong hand" - King John**

Clarke collapsed on the plush blue couch in the Blakes' living room with a groan. Octavia's laughter sounded from the kitchen, but she was too tired to lift her head to glare at the brunette.

"Shut up, Octavia."

Octavia merely laughed harder. "I take it my brother is kicking your ass."

"I feel like I've gone three rounds with a thousand pound gorilla. Really, how hard can doing a Tango be?"

Octavia moved into her field of vision, an incredulous expression on her face. "You really don't know?"

"Know what?"

The other woman shook her head in disbelief before returning to banging around in the kitchen. "You already did a Tango with Nathan and got three perfect scores and a nine. Bell wants to make sure you get four tens. He's been beat out by Miller too many times over the years to not want to come out on top this time. He's never had a partner that meshes with him as well as you do, so he wants to create something extraordinary."

"So that's why it feels like we're training for the Olympics and not a TV Show?"

"Precisely. Where is my idiot brother anyway?"

Clarke rolled so that she could see Octavia over the arm of the couch. Her muscles screamed in protest, causing another groan to escape her lips. She had never felt this flayed before. She wasn't sure she could make it off the couch even if the house was on fire. She let out a long-suffering sigh before replying to Octavia. "He said something about running errands after he dropped me off. I wasn't paying too much attention considering every single part of my body was dying at the time."

Octavia absently hummed at her while pulling lettuce from the fridge and setting it on the counter next to three plates she'd already pulled from the cabinets. Clarke stared helplessly at the plates. She usually helped Octavia prepare their meals, but today she was in too much pain to think straight. Glancing over at her, Octavia paused. "Why don't you take a hot bath? I have Epsom salts under the sink. Just pour a cup in the bath while you're filling it and soak for at least twenty minutes."

"You don't mind?"

"Nah. Plus I have a feeling Bell's going to want to go over some choreography with you later. He let you have an entire afternoon off. There's no way he's not making you run something with him in the living room tonight. He's just that type of special," she told her with a grimace.

Special sort of asshole Clarke added silently. She and Bellamy might be something resembling friends now, but he was still ruthless as ever in the studio. She sank further into the couch, her muscles protesting even that slight movement. "I take it you're speaking from experience?"

Octavia nodded as she chopped tomatoes. "Yup. Back when Bell and I were competing professionally he was a complete perfectionist. We'd spend the day teaching at the studio and the evening rehearsing. Then we'd come home, eat dinner and Bell would be like… let's run that super hard part you've been messing up all day until you want to kill me, sound good? I never actually killed him, obviously, but it was a close thing some days. Of course we nearly always won, which only encouraged him to continue torturing me."

"Sounds like Bellamy," Clarke muttered as she forced herself to stand. She hobbled toward the bathroom, ignoring Octavia's soft laughter. "I can hear you, Octavia."

"I promise the bath will make you feel better," Octavia's voice called from the kitchen.

"Yeah, yeah." Clarke sank down on the toilet lid as she turned the spigots to searing hot. She might not want to boil herself, but the warmer the water the more likely she was going to be able to move at a pace faster than an elderly sloth. Recalling Octavia's instructions about the Epsom salts, she pivoted on the seat to pull the cabinet door open. True to her word, the carton of Epsom salts was tucked just inside the door. Clarke dumped what looked like 1.5 cups of salt into the bath.

The tub took several minutes to fill, but Clarke appreciated not having to move or think. When the water sloshed near the overflow drain, she toed off her flats and slowly stood, joints creaking, to remove her fitted blue jeans and tank top. Her green sports bra was the last to fall onto the pile of clothing. Normally she changed completely after the studio, but their Tango rehearsal had left her with just enough energy to pull on decent clothing before collapsing in the passenger side of Bellamy's jeep. She would swear he was trying to kill her if not for the fact that he'd released her from duty despite her failure to properly execute several parts of their Tango.

She dipped a toe in the water and hissed at the heat, quickly pulling her foot back. Now that she knew the temperature she slowly placed her foot in the water, ignoring the burn as hot water rushed to meet cool skin. Soon enough she was able to lower her whole body into the soothing water. An involuntary moan escaped her lips as her muscles began to unknot and relax in the heat. She pulled her hair into a messy bun on top of her head with the spare hair tie from her wrist before leaning fully back into the water. Closing her eyes, she sighed in relief.

As the warmth permeated through her joints and loosened the tension in her body, she found herself thinking of Wells yet again. As each day passed, the gushing wound in her chest clotted just a bit more. It had been eleven days since his death and she still felt his loss keenly. It was the small things. She'd be driving past a street in West LA and see someone in outrageous clothing and naturally her first thought would be to text Wells. He always had the best responses that made her giggle uncontrollably. But she would never hear his deep laugh through the static of the phone or see one of his horrible puns flash across her screen again. He was gone and no matter how much she fought to accept that loss, to let him go, she couldn't give him up. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She clung to his memory, whispering to him when no one was listening, playing imaginary chess games with him as she tossed and turned under the sheets, sleep ever elusive.

Bellamy and Octavia helped, but they could only do so much. More nights than not found her sitting on the couch in silence with Bellamy sipping Scotch and watching the lights of LA flicker beyond the balcony. He seemed to understand that there was nothing he could say to ease her pain, but his solid presence by her side held her together, reminding her that although the loss of Wells was a raw wound, she shouldn't let it fester. Clarke often told herself that Wells would be extremely disappointed in her if she got so caught up in his death that she didn't remember to live.

And live she did. Each day at the dance studio Bellamy pushed her to new extremes. No matter how tired she became, her whole body hummed like a live wire at the end of their practice sessions. Just the simple act of moving with him catapulted her beyond her troubles; she took to it like an addict, savoring each moment that the searing grief was held at bay.

Bellamy pushed her physically, proving that she was stronger, more flexible and faster than she ever imagined. He destroyed her mentally. She had this image of Clarke Griffin, nice girl. She was the girl next door, the girl who drew landscapes and went to medical school to save the world. She rarely argued with other people, save her mother, and she never got into fights. Clarke played it safe. Even her relationship with Lexa had been more about exploring a risk-free avenue than giving in to passion. Clarke was controlled, never letting the emotions that clawed at her skin out for the world to see. She was better than that. She was stronger than that.

Bellamy took one look at her with his dark burning eyes and eviscerated that Clarke. He drove her to the dark side, pulling pain, loss and desire out of her. He forced her emotions to the surface and used their eruption to fuel her performance. She was driven into a realm of raw passion that scorched her with each step, but ignited a craving she had never known before. She was no longer moving to be beautiful, no longer one of Balanchine's Jewels, she was moving to communicate, to share the twisted emotions that lurked beneath the surface of her being. Now she was a tidal wave reaching its pinnacle as she moved across the floor, relishing the moment on the precipice. Clarke was in awe as she watched him mold her into something so foreign that she didn't recognize herself in the rehearsal mirrors. Where she had been all curves and light, she was now sharp edges and smoldering darkness, so raw she nearly recoiled from herself.

Despite the ability of dance to transport her beyond the suffering, she still found herself thinking of Wells, paying tribute to him as she moved across the floor during their Tango to "Feel so Close" by Calvin Harris. He was in the sensual lyrics, the staccato beats and the dropping of her hand from Bellamy's as the last notes rippled through her. He was her shadow even when she could concentrate on nothing but the wild beat of Bellamy's heart against her fingers and the searing heat of his breath across her lips. Even as her skin exploded under Bellamy's calloused palms, Wells was breathing down her neck, refusing to let go.

Clarke knew it was unhealthy to cling to him still and yet no amount of distraction, not even the deep abyss of Bellamy's captivating dark eyes, could pull her fully from the depths of sorrow. She found herself trying to lose herself in Bellamy's deep voice and skilled grip more frequently, wanting to give in to the tendrils of desire that rocketed down her spine when he pulled her close to him. It was stupid, a heightened attraction for all the wrong reasons, but she ached for something beyond the fallow ground of her grief. Through their nights of silent communion, Clarke had become accustomed to Bellamy, even come to like him, but the idea of pursuing her attraction was absurd. He was her friend and she could not afford to lose another one of those so quickly no matter what the jumble of her hormones and grief led her to feel.

She kicked a foot out of the water, sending droplets splattering across the blue tiles. Here she was, sitting in a soothing bath, senses inundated by heavenly smells from the kitchen and Clarke was still trying to analyze, to fix her situation. She would give anything to escape her head, to take a vacation in someone else's brain. But she was stuck, mind warring over the merits of her desires and the woes of her sorrows. She groaned, stared blankly ahead and tried to concentrate to the ache in her muscles instead of her heart.

S~*~S

The heavenly smell turned out to be Octavia's curry, which was mind blowing. Clarke just barely resisted licking her lips like a cat as they cleaned the kitchen. Bellamy was putting the dishes in the dishwasher while Octavia rinsed and Clarke cleared the dining room table. Once again she was reminded of how warm and domestic the Blake house felt. Even before her father had died there had been no family dinners in the Griffin household. Most nights neither her mother nor father could make it home. When they lived within walking distance of the Jahas, she spent most evenings with Wells and his mother. Although those dinners had been pleasant, they lacked the sincerity dinner with the Blakes embodied.

Neither Octavia nor Bellamy was shy about voicing their opinions. The arguments that ignited between the two were violent, but they were also brief and always ended with conciliatory laughter. Whatever Clarke was feeling, it was safe to share with either Bellamy or Octavia. Dinners with the Jahas had been too marred by unmentionable facts and absent parents to ever feel truly safe.

Bellamy finished loading the dishes and dried his hands on the blue dishtowel as he turned to Clarke, a predatory smile on his face. Octavia glanced between the two of them before mouthing 'I told you so' to Clarke and disappearing down the hallway towards her room.

Bellamy ignored his sister, moving to lean casually against the kitchen doorframe, his white t-shirt pulling tightly as he crossed his arms. His olive skin glowed against the white material and Clarke was momentarily lost in tracing the planes of chest and the defined muscles of his arms. Her eyes were drawn to the splattering of freckles down his neck that she knew continued across his shoulders and back. Her fingers itched to trace their downward path.

"Princess?"

Realizing he had been speaking to her, Clarke's eyes shot up to see an amused smirk growing on his face. "Huh?"

"I was saying, before you got distracted ogling me," he began. Clarke knew her face was flaming red now. Usually he was kind enough to let her lingering stares go unmentioned, but apparently she'd been a bit too blatant this time. Thankfully he continued without further comment. "That you skipped a whole afternoon of practice, so you owe me at least an hour tonight."

"Octavia forewarned me on this one," Clarke admitted. "I took a bath, so I can move, but can we only do the intro? I'm not sure I'm up for all the fast parts right now. I can try, but I'm pretty sure that would end in death by muscle failure."

He stared at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. He had a deep flowing laugh that made Clarke's insides warm and tingly. "You sound so sure of my murderous intent, Princess."

She continued to stare at him, not sure what exactly was so hilarious to him, but unwilling to stop his peals of laughter. His defined shoulders continued to shake for at least another minute before he caught his breath and pulled a hand through his unruly curls. "If anything, you'll be the death of me, Princess. Not the other way around."

"Care to share what was so funny?"

He shook his head, black curls spraying across his forehead. "You reminded me a bit of Octavia as a teenager, which is not exactly a flattering comparison. She was a bit of a brat sometimes."

Clarke leveled an even stare at him. "You can be pretty demanding."

"Only for your own good. Now what do you say to some extra practice?"

"Do I have a choice?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Technically?"

Clarke rolled her eyes at him as she pushed past him into the living room, bumping his shoulder with hers and darting a playful grin at him. He stared at her for a moment before rushing past her and swinging her into his grasp. She struggled against his firm grip, the urge to giggle swelling up within her. This was ridiculous, but it was also the most fun she'd had in weeks and all they were doing was horsing around like a pair of five year olds.

A youthful grin was plastered on his face and his cheeks were flushed from the momentary exertion. Clarke thought he looked positively edible, but there was no way she was letting him know she appreciated the disheveled look. All too soon he released her, holding out his hand.

"Shall we dance?"

"Why yes, Your Royal Highness, we shall," Clarke returned as she took his hand.

He gave a small chuckle. "Too bad we're not doing the Polka."

"I used to make my father dance me around the living room singing that song. Neither he nor I are very good singers, but we had a great time of it."

Bellamy's eyes lit with amusement. "Octavia too. For a month after I let her see the movie all she wanted to do was dance with me. I should have known dancing was going to be her future, but she was only five and I really wasn't that observant of a ten year old."

Clarke grinned at him as she imagined a small Octavia and Bellamy polkaing around the room. "I suppose I should have known too, but I found art before I found dance."

He tilted his head at her. "I didn't know you were an artist too."

She tugged on his hand to bring him to sit on the couch with her. She stared down at their joined hands for a long moment, only speaking when she felt him stir beside her. "I haven't painted or drawn since my father died."

It spoke to the closeness they had developed that Bellamy didn't hesitate to ask, "Why'd you stop?"

"Inspiration mostly," she admitted. "It wasn't that I didn't feel like I could draw, it was that I didn't want to. My dad had always embraced my artistic side far more than my mother. I mean you saw her the other day. She thinks artists and homeless people belong in the same population category. So when he died, I had no one I really wanted to share my art with. Wells tried, he really did, but he couldn't get me to draw or paint again."

All humor was gone from Bellamy's expression as he reached out and tucked some loose strands of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered as he spoke, "Doing this show was a really big deal for you, wasn't it? It wasn't just about dancing, it was about doing something artistic again."

Her face tingled from the brush of his hand as she nodded. "I want to find that part of myself again. I want to be inspired."

His dark eyes bored into her while he murmured as if in prayer, "I want to inspire you."

The Goosebumps that rushed across Clarke's skin had nothing to with the draft from the window. He had no idea how much he had inspired her already. Every interaction with Bellamy left her full of creative yearning. He made her want to dance wildly in the rain while she painted the impact of his soul on dripping canvases. He made her want to break free of her body and explode into the ether. She had no idea if any of those things were even possible, but he inspired her to profound madness. But even though she would call them friends now, she didn't dare share her emotions. She was not yet ready to open that floodgate because she was sure once it was open, she would have no choice but to drown.

He was still staring intently at her as if drinking in the memory. She vibrated under the intensity of his dark eyes. A moment before Clarke was sure she was going to splinter into a thousand pieces, Bellamy abruptly shook his head, smiled and rose to his feet.

"Dancing time, Princess." He led her to one of the clearer parts of the living room, across from the couch and coffee table. Dropping her hand, he assumed their beginning pose. "From the top…"

Even with no music playing, they moved in synch with each other as if they shared the same natural frequency. Eight beats into their walk, they reached towards each other, hands clasping slowly. Clarke's fingers tingled as they brushed over Bellamy's, but she ignored the sensation, already moving to the next steps. They continued walking together to end the eight count and then he was spinning her between his warm palms, sending lightning racing down her spine. His strong grip halted her movement she let her head fall back as she extended her free leg in a high dévelopé. In the performance she'd be wearing a flowing black pantsuit, but right now her black cotton pajama bottoms rode up her leg.

As soon as her toe pointed, they were spinning together, quick movements that narrowly avoided each other. Clarke let the momentum of their turns throw her into a deep port du bras backward, arching her back to its maximum. She loved this moment most of all because she could abandon herself and in that release freedom stretched out before her. The moment ended all too soon as he reversed the momentum, pulling her back to him.

In the choreography their lips were supposed to hover millimeters apart in teasing suspense before the quick beat of the music began and they took off across the floor with a series intricate turns and steps. In practice they had glossed over the moment since it was more theater than dance, but now as she felt the burn of his lips so close to hers, it was unbearable. Without conscious thought Clarke surged forward the last millimeter and closed the gap between them. His lips were soft and searing against hers and for an infinite moment he remained perfectly still, the only sound his sharp intake of breath. Then his fingers were tightening on her back and his mouth was plundering hers as if seeking salvation in its depths. A low moan escaped Clarke as he pulled her flush against him, the hard planes of his chest burning against her. His mouth was branding her with open-mouthed kisses that promised so much more when suddenly he was standing across the room staring at Clarke like he had never seen her before.

Bellamy's chest heaved and his cheeks were flushed, but it was his eyes that undid her. They were blown wide, pupils dilated in unmasked desire. For a long moment all he did was stare at her like it was a scorching summer day and she was the only cold water in sight. Then he snapped his eyes closed and dug both hands into his hair, pulling hard at the roots of his black curls. When he looked at her again, his eyes were clear and edged with regret. Her heart crashed to her feet and shattered. He thought it was a mistake. Although Clarke knew he was right, she had wanted so badly for him to desire her. But she had known, known from the beginning, that he was not hers for the taking. "I'm sorry," she murmured, refusing to meet his regretful eyes and retreating toward the couch. The manta of stupid, stupid, stupid reverberated through her skull as she dug her fingers into the plush material of the couch, regret pooling in her stomach.

He made to step toward her before thinking better of it and moving to perch on the arm of the couch at the end opposite her. His voice was strained, as if speaking took all his energy. "I don't do this. Ever. There are certain lines I don't cross."

"I understand." She kept her head down, fingers gripping the couch cushions where she sat and watched his bare feet out of the corner of her eye.

"Clarke," he murmured and finally she met his dark gaze. He looked less regretful now and more conflicted. His forehead was creased with lines and a frown tugged at his mouth. "I've allowed us to get closer than normal. I know that. I would consider us friends…"

She let out a breath of relief. At least she wasn't losing him. She didn't know what she'd do right now if she had to leave the Blakes'. Narrowing her eyes at him, she nodded. "Yes, we're friends. But just friends…"

He sighed and buried his head in his hands for a moment before meeting her disappointed stare once more. "I can't tell you there isn't anything there." He waved his hand between them. "Obviously we have chemistry, but right now is not the time to be exploring that. You've just been through a traumatic loss and I am not taking advantage of your vulnerability. Not to mention every single one of our interactions from 9 AM to 5 PM is filmed for the whole world to see. I'm a private person, Clarke. I don't want my personal life plastered all over network television."

Clarke smiled sardonically. "So you're not rejecting me, just all the baggage that comes with being with me right now."

He flinched at her words, but nodded. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"I'm not sure if you have or not," she admitted. The crushing heartache that she had felt when he pulled away had faded to a dull throb now. That he was rejecting her because of circumstances and not outright was a balm to the wound. She had not expected him to be interested at all, so the news that Bellamy Blake, dancing superstar and admitted playboy, was telling her that he wanted her, but liked her enough to back off until the time was right felt more like victory than defeat. What she had done was stupid and she knew she wasn't ready, wasn't able to give him what he deserved even if he had accepted her advance. Clarke's scars were too fresh, her motives too cloudy. She sighed and offered him a small smile. "Let's just forget it for now. You're right. I'm still working through a lot and our friendship is more important than an accidental kiss."

His dark expression lifted at her words and he reached over to give her shoulder a small shove. "Accidental my ass, Princess."

Her face flushed, but a smile tugged at her lips. "Shut up."

Bellamy rose from the couch and held out a hand to her. "Come on, let's do a drama free run through of that intro."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: "But love is blind, and lovers cannot see" – Merchant of Venice**

Clarke shifted in her seat as she stared at the luggage cars zipping across the Van Nuys tarmac, doing her best to ignore the cold sensation percolating through her right side. She knew Lexa was unapologetically staring from her seat across from Clarke in the cabin of the private jet, but she had no desire to deal with her right now. When her mother had informed her a jet had been arranged for the funeral, Clarke had been livid, but there was no point in fighting this particular battle. Of course Lexa, being a congresswoman and friend of both the Griffins and Jahas, would be sharing the plane with her. While they spoke in passing often enough, it was still incredibly awkward to be sandwiched between Lexa and the Blake siblings in such a confined space for nearly six hours.

Her mother had no idea Clarke was bringing Bellamy and Octavia and frankly, Clarke didn't give a damn what her response would be. Abigail had already treated Bellamy like shit and Clarke had no reason to expect a different reaction this time around. Her plan was to avoid her mother at all possible moments anyway, so hopefully Bellamy wouldn't even see her mother outside the formalities of the funeral.

Clarke hadn't known how to ask either of the Blakes to accompany her. She'd only been living with them for a week and they weren't longtime friends. So even though they were her only support in LA, she hadn't known how to pose the question. Hey, I really don't want to be alone at my best friend's funeral, so it would be great if you two could come act as human shields just didn't seem to have the right ring to it. Not that her lack of invitation had stopped them from coming. Octavia had walked in on her silent tears the morning after the Tango and immediately pulled out her cell phone. Five minutes later the slim brunette reported she'd negotiated a reduced rehearsal schedule for the weekend because there was no way in hell she was letting Clarke attend the funeral alone.

Octavia's kindness was an oasis in her desert of grief. Even on the worst days where Clarke wanted nothing more than to crawl back to bed and hide from the world, Octavia was there, pulling her out from under the sheets and shepherding her into the shower. They didn't talk as much as she and Bellamy, but her budding friendship with Octavia had no drama attached. While Clarke yearned to pour her soul out while drowning in Bellamy's deep chocolate stare, she settled for the steady warmth of his sister. Octavia was safe and that's exactly what Clarke needed right now.

Bellamy was different. She hadn't asked and he hadn't offered. But two days before she and Octavia were set to leave, he'd paused at the end of dinner, entrancing Clarke with his haunting dark eyes as he murmured in his deep baritone that he was going to join them. The rush of emotions through Clarke had been so chaotic that all she could do was gape and nod, lest she burst into tears or worse. She'd wanted him to come; needed him to come in visceral way that she didn't understand. They were just friends, nothing more to come from that, but he had become essential to her in a way she'd never experienced with anyone besides Wells. So she'd nodded frantically at him and now he sat in the seat beside her, a steadying presence in her unstable world.

Things between them had evolved since the kiss, but not necessarily in a bad way. She'd worried that her rash actions would have dire consequences, but in an odd twist, Bellamy seemed more comfortable with her now. There was still a forced distance between them that left Clarke's stomach churning, but Bellamy hadn't retreated. Quite the opposite actually. He'd already cut back on his scathing commentary after the first week and then again after she moved in with the Blakes. Now, however, there was no sign of the cutthroat asshole she had first met. He took his time explaining the dance moves, always making sure she understood the minutiae of both the choreography and the feelings they were supposed to emote. The new Bellamy Blake was a thousand times more motivational and she found herself falling in love with dance all over again to the rough sounds of his voice in her ear and the searing feel of his hands on her skin.

Their Tango had burned with raw passion and grief, nearly overwhelming Clarke, but earning them a perfect score the past Monday. She'd still felt the insatiable need to be closer to Bellamy as she moved through the intricate choreography, but she'd focused on her grief, channeling it into the performance and moving beyond her baser urges.

Despite their mutual agreement to let their chemistry lay fallow for the time being, she was haunted by the memory of him moving against her, of his breath mingling with her own. Several nights she had awoken, gasping as decidedly inappropriate images of him flashed through her mind. As much as her frustration mounted in these moments, Clarke knew she had to let it go. Her friendship with him was the only thing holding her together and she could not afford to lose that just because he made her horrendously horny. So she would down a glass of cold water followed by two fingers of Scotch and try not to think about him sleeping just down the hall.

"Clarke?"

The deep rumble of Bellamy's voice cut through her meandering thoughts. She turned toward the seat next to her. "What?"

He shrugged, motioning toward the window. "I had no idea those carts could be that interesting. You'll have to teach me all their secrets."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "I wasn't actually watching the luggage trucks, Bellamy. I'm not five."

"Could've fooled me, Princess."

"You seem to know each other well,"Lexa cut in, her eyes flashing dangerously with shuttered emotion. Octavia shifted in her seat next to Lexa, but ignored the conversation. She was zoned out reading something on her kindle with large purple earphones encompassing her head. Clarke figured the plane might be able to crash without her noticing. Lexa glanced sharply sideways at the younger Blake before raising her eyebrows at Clarke. Clarke swallowed and glanced at Bellamy who was staring at Lexa with thinly veiled hostility. Wonderful. She tried not to groan aloud as she turned back to Lexa. Now was hardly a good time for her to babysit two fully-grown adults.

"I assume you've gotten to know Gustus pretty well too," Clarke responded, not sure where Lexa was going with her question.

Lexa scowled openly at her and crossed her arms. "I am not living with Gustus, Clarke. You are living with Bellamy."

Thus far Bellamy had seemed content to let Clarke do all the talking, but now he leaned forward in his seat, matching Lexa's sour expression with one of his own. "How exactly do you two know each other?"

"They dated." Apparently Octavia would notice if the plane crashed.

Bellamy's eyebrows shot up as he looked back and fourth between Clarke and Lexa. He looked an adorable mix of confused and fascinated. "Dated?"

"Yes. The activity where one does things like go out to dinner with a prospective romantic partner. You have heard of dating, right, Blake? I know you don't participate in the practice seeing as how you're more of a wham bam thank you Ma'am kind of guy." Lexa was now staring daggers at Bellamy, seconds away from baring her teeth at him.

One look at Bellamy was enough to know all of his hackles had been raised. Clarke fought the urge to bang her head on the tiny airplane window. She put what she hoped was a comforting hand on Bellamy's arm and rounded on Lexa. "That was uncalled for, Lexa."

Lexa refused to back down. "I'm just calling it like I see it. Or rather hear it. Roma has quite a lot to say about you, Blake."

Steam was nearly pouring out of Bellamy's ears. "What the hell were you doing with Roma?"

Now Lexa's expression morphed into one of victory and Clarke tensed in anticipation of her words, fingers digging into Bellamy's arm. "I imagine about the same thing you were doing, Blake. Only with a bit more finesse and follow through."

That was enough. Clarke was about to spend six hours on a plane to go to her best friend's funeral. There was no way Bellamy and Lexa were going to make the experience even worse than it already had to be. "Shut up! Both of you just shut up. Lexa, Bellamy has been a true friend to me in the last few weeks. So has Octavia. That's why I chose to bring them with me. You are here because my mother wants you to be here.

"Bellamy, Lexa can be confrontational, but she is a good person. Yes we dated, but it was just after college and it is all ancient history now. Also, despite what Lexa is saying about Roma, I know she is head over heels for Costia so you can stop worrying about her breaking up… well… whatever the hell you have with Roma. Okay? Okay. Now can we all just be quiet and get through this flight?"

Twin pairs of round eyes stared at Clarke before both Bellamy and Lexa nodded in acquiescence. Across from Bellamy, Octavia sent her a subtle thumbs up and Clarke had to resist smiling lest Lexa and Bellamy think she wasn't still peeved with them. This was going to be a long flight.

S~*~S

The funeral itself had been a drab, formal affair and Clarke couldn't help thinking that Wells would have hated it. He had been full of vibrant life and the staid event had been full of black, gray and propriety. But he was Wells Jaha, son of the President of the United States, and that meant that things like personal memorial services were not in the cards. On the positive side, Clarke had been able to hide effectively in the sea of black and gray politicians. Bellamy and Octavia were constants at her side and Clarke had to admit their presence made her feel safe. Her old life was not something she wanted to be surrounded by and with a simple glance at Bellamy or his sister, Clarke could reassure herself that the last seven weeks had not been just a dream.

Most importantly, she had avoided her mother the entire time they had been in DC. With the exception of the greeting line after the funeral, they had never been within five feet of each other. Even then, her mother seemed to be honoring Clarke's wish for her to stay away because she merely kissed Clarke on the cheek briefly and then turned away. Clarke wasn't sure if she should be worried or relieved that Abigail was taking their current estrangement so well.

She spotted Bellamy staring absently out over the White House lawn. His shoulders were rigid beneath his three-piece tux and his fingers tightly grasped a glass filled with an amber liquid, likely Whiskey or Scotch. He was unrecognizable with his hair slicked back against his head save for his prominent array of freckles and soul-searching dark eyes. Clarke was struck with the urge to dig her fingers into his gelled hair and free his dark curls from captivity; without them he seemed different, less a force of nature. She didn't like it. Even with the perfectly tailored tux and slicked hair he appeared out of place on the White House stairs. There was something about his stance that screamed discomfort and something about his face that was too honest to belong to the world of politics.

She moved to stand beside him, lightly brushing his arm with her own. It was a warm spring day in DC and Clarke had opted for a long sleeve scoop-neck black lace dress that was tight to her waist and then fell in a soft A-line to her knees. A light breeze ruffled the hem of her dress as she tilted her head to look up at Bellamy. "Penny for your thoughts?"  
"This is insane." He gestured out to the vast lawn. "I never expected Octavia and I to be dining at the White House."

"Wish it could be better circumstances," Clarke told him softly.

He shook his head. "Doesn't matter the circumstances, Clarke. This was never in the cards for us. And it still isn't. I don't belong here rubbing elbows with all these sleazy politicians. No offence."

"None taken. I never felt like I belonged here either." She reached out and clasped his hand. "How about we jump ship? There a few area bars that I know Wells would want me to show you guys. Hell, it will probably be a better tribute to his memory than this whole production."

Bellamy's dark eyes searched her face. "You sure? Don't leave early on my account."

"Bellamy. You know me better than that. You've seen the frozen wasteland between my mother and I. I am most definitely not leaving on your account. Come on, let's go find Octavia and get out of here before the stuffy suits smother us all."

She led him back through the various state rooms until they spotted Octavia standing in a corner flirting heavily with a young man dressed in an expensive tux. Clarke felt a frown tug at her mouth. She thought Lincoln and Octavia had been getting serious. Octavia didn't keep her in the dark long as she grinned at Bellamy and Clarke. "Bell, Clarke, meet Louis! He's French!"

Next to her Bellamy groaned. Louis smiled at them and extended his hand apparently oblivious to Bellamy's reaction. "Pleasure to meet you both. Sorry for your loss, Miss Griffin."

Bellamy and Clarke took his hand in turn and Clarke murmured a soft thank you before smiling at Louis with saccharine politeness. "Do you mind if we borrow Miss Blake? We have a prior engagement to attend shortly."

Louis nodded shortly and wandered off into the throng of black and gray. Clarke glared at Octavia. "What would Lincoln say?"

"Clarke," Octavia whined. "Lincoln understands my love of the French. Everyone understands my love of the French."

"She's obsessed," Bellamy confirmed. "I would view this incident as fairly low on the Octavia's too obsessed with the French scale. The height was when she tried to hold an airline steward hostage on one of our flights back from Paris."

"He was cute!"

"He thought you were a terrorist, O."

Octavia shrugged. "I may have come on a little strong. I blame it on the language barrier."

"Wait, what?" Clarke stared aghast at Octavia. "You didn't bother to learn French?"

"High school drop out remember, Clarke? I know like one phrase and I'm not going to use it in front of my brother."

"Wonderful, O," Bellamy groaned again. He peered down at Clarke with a haggard expression. "Where was this bar you were talking about? I need to chase my Whiskey with some more Whiskey. And maybe a few beers."

"Bar? What bar? I like this idea." Octavia looked close to exploding in delight.

"It's just a bar, Octavia. It's a few Metro stops away." Clarke shook her head at her friend. Octavia was always so full of enthusiasm. If Clarke had half the energy the of younger Blake sibling, she would be over the moon.

Bellamy rolled his eyes at his sister before turning to Clarke. "Let's get out of here."

"Destination Coat Room, Bitches," Octavia announced as she led the way, leaving her brother and Clarke to exchange fond looks of exasperation before following in her wake.

S~*~S

Clarke led Bellamy and Octavia up out of the Metro station at Dupont Circle. As soon as Octavia's eyes alighted on the fountain, she squealed in delight. Clarke laughed at her friend, but humored her as they crossed the street to get a better look at the historic fountain.

"LA has none of this cool shit, Bell. Maybe we should take the show East…"

"I don't know. How do you feel about going back to four months of winter, O?"

Octavia's nose scrunched up. "On second thought let's stick with LA."

Clarke sighed, taking in the sights and sounds of the neighborhood. It was good to be showing friends around the District. She hadn't wandered around the Dupont Circle area in a long time, but once upon a time it had been their refuge, the one place she and Wells escaped the madness. That was back before any presidential bids had been announced and Wells had gained a constant shadow in the form of the secret service. Still the neighborhood felt like home to her and Clarke was glad she had the chance to share it with the Blakes.

Octavia was on the precipice of jumping in the fountain and Clarke realized they needed to get moving before she had one or more soaking wet Blake siblings on her hands. Not that she'd mind a wet Bellamy. The image of water droplets running down the olive skin of his chest and across his defined abs appeared before she could stop herself. Damn it. Trying not to think about Bellamy was like trying not to breathe; it worked for about thirty seconds before failing catastrophically.

Before she could continue too far down that rabbit hole, she grabbed each Blake by the hand and marched west toward P St. "We have a bar to get to."

Bellamy leveled an amused glare at her before mock saluting. "Yes, sir. Princess, sir."

Octavia stared intently at her brother as they stopped to wait for a light. "Are you ever going to stop calling Clarke that?"

"Nope."

"You do know she hates it, right?"

Bellamy stared at his sister over Clarke's head while she gazed intently at him. He had a neutral expression on his face, but his eyes held a glimmer of humor and something Clarke couldn't quite identify. "I am aware that she initially did not like it. In fact, I believe that's what 90% of our conversations were about. But now she can't live without it. Isn't that right, Princess?"

Clarke tried to glare at him, she really did, but the self-satisfied expression on his face was too perfect. She gave his hand a violent tug as laughter bubbled over her lips. "Whatever you need to think, Bellamy. Whatever you need to think."

He looked a cross between pleased and perplexed as he stared back her. Good. It was high time get got to deal with some of the confusion in their relationship. He cleared his throat and glanced up P Street. "So where are we going, Clarke?"

"The Bier Baron on 22nd Steet. It's about a block away. They have like 100 beers on tap or something insane like that. I promise you'll find something you like. They're the only place I know with a decent selection of ciders too."

Octavia perked up at the mention of ciders, giving Clarke a pleased grin. "Sounds tasty! Although I hope they have some food too. All I had at that reception was white wine and maybe three of those weird appetizers they kept passing around. I always feel so awkward when they offer you something on a tray. If it looks disgusting there's no good way of saying no."

"You worry about the strangest things, O."

The brunette shrugged. "One of us has to worry and you've got your head too far up your own ass, so it falls on me."

"Gee thanks, O. I can really feel the love."

Octavia simply shrugged at her brother again before pulling them both further along P Street. Clarke stole another glance at Bellamy as they followed her. Despite his words, he didn't appear the least bit upset. The spring breeze ruffled a few unruly curls that had escaped the gel and his face was slightly flushed from the effort of keeping up with his sister. His full lips were pulled up at the corners, forming a private smile that sent warmth flooding through Clarke.

When he was able to let down his guard and just be Bellamy Blake, older brother to one Octavia Blake, he seemed ten years younger. Clarke supposed that she hadn't realized how much pressure he was under in the show environment. She had wrongly assumed that the Dancing with the Stars world was his natural habitat. Now it was apparent she couldn't have been more wrong. The Bellamy in LA moved as if he were being hunted, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd for paparazzi and fans. He seemed to have forgotten that the show was on national television because he showed no care for who noticed him here. Clarke had seen several people subtly snapping their picture, but she wasn't sure if it was because they recognized her or the Blakes. In either case, the people had moved on quietly and she felt no need to alert Bellamy lest he revert to his LA persona. In addition to the paranoia, in LA he seemed perpetually exhausted as if sleep was a something to be wished for but never achieved. She knew he did get rest, but it was clear that LA was not the healthiest location for his psyche.

They arrived at the blue awning that marked the entrance to the Bier Baron within a few minutes. Once inside they made their way up to the upper bar, snagging seats at a table in the middle of the room. As they sank into their chairs, Bellamy grinned appreciatively at the beer list. "This is fantastic, Princess. Thank you!"

A waitress stopped at their table, passing out coasters to them as she said, "I'm Mary Ann and I'll be taking care of you this afternoon. What can I get you?"

Clarke smiled up at her, appreciating the girl's bright green hair. She'd missed coming to a place where no one cared what you were wearing or if your hair was a glowing shade of neon. Los Angeles was so fashion obsessed that Clarke felt judged just walking down the street. Before Wells had passed away, he'd taken to regularly sending her pictures he found of her online with attached scathing commentary. The pictures had served to confirm her suspicions. All of LA thought she was an uptight East Coast snob with terrible taste in clothing. It was incredibly satisfying to be away from plastic town USA. "I think we're going to do some early dinner and drinks. I'll have a Strongbow."

Bellamy glanced up from the beer list. "I'll start with the Oscar Blues Gubna IPA."

Octavia rolled her eyes. "He likes his beer just this side of soap. I'll have a Strongbow too."

"Awesome, if I could just see some IDs?"

She took Octavia and Bellamy's first, taking an extra moment to find the right dates on the California driver's licenses before picking up Clarke's. One look at her name had Mary Ann doing a double take. She gave back the ID without comment, but Clarke knew she'd figured out who she was. She sighed. She really shouldn't have expected anything different. With the funeral in the news and the show on television mentions of Clarke were at an all time high.

Bellamy's dark eyes lingered on her face as the waitress retreated to the bar, his mouth turning down in a frown. He leaned closer to her, his shoulder brushing hers. "You okay?"

Clarke swallowed deeply and nodded. "Yeah. Just wish I could turn off reality sometimes."

His eyes darkened and butterflies momentarily stormed through Clarke's stomach. When he looked at her with such brutal intensity she just wanted to lose herself in him. She wanted to forget that her best friend was only five hours in the ground and that everything in her life was finding a way to unravel itself. She so desperately wanted to exist in a world where there were only his strong arms around her as they moved to music. She didn't care what the song was, just that there was music and Bellamy by her side.

Realizing she was still staring deeply into Bellamy's eyes, she blushed and glanced down to her hands. She needed to stop dreaming of a future that would never come to pass. Even if she and Bellamy found the right moment to be together, he still had his job on the show and she would never be able to escape her duties as the Vice President's daughter. She was only torturing herself.

"Hey." His deep voice pulled sharply at her heartstrings. She steeled herself before peering back up at him. "Right now I just want you to let go. We've got you, Princess."

Mary Ann arrived with their drinks and Clarke shot him a grateful nod before taking a gulp of cider. She was happy in this moment in time and maybe, just maybe, that's all that really mattered.

S~*~S

Clarke stumbled up the porch steps of her mother's mansion, nearly careening into the lilac bushes planted on either side of the stairs. Laughter enveloped her as strong arms pulled her upright. She leaned back into the warmth, giggling.

"Hmm. You smell good," she murmured. "Like sandalwood and happiness."

Bellamy's deep chuckle resonated in her ear. "I wasn't aware happiness was a smell, Princess."

"No, no. You make me happy. So when I smell you, it's like smelling happiness." Clarke leaned further back into him, relishing the heat of him and the feel of his hard chest against her back. "God. I don't want this to end."

He dipped his head forward, his unruly curls ghosting across the side of her face, until his lips met her neck. Fire shot through her veins and she couldn't help moaning at the contact. His breath puffed heavily over her right ear as he swore, "Fuck. Princess, you're going to be the death of me."

The clearing of a throat reminded both of them that Octavia was standing at the front door. "I wanted to see absolutely nothing that I have just witnessed. So kindly get your asses up here and unlock the door so I can go to a room in this huge house that is as far away from both of you as possible. Thank you."

Clarke merely giggled again at the frustrated expression on Octavia's face, but Bellamy released his hold on her. He took her hand and led her the rest of the way up to the door. Clarke had no hope of being coordinated enough to put the key into the lock, so she handed it to Octavia. While she was pretty sure Bellamy and Octavia had drank modestly at the bar, Clarke had been on a mission to subvert reality. In doing so, she had made several bad decisions, beginning with numerous ciders and concluding with an indeterminate number of Vodka shots.

Before she even realized they'd entered the house, Octavia was leaving them with a warning not to "do anything you will regret in the morning or that would make my life more difficult." Bellamy kept a strong arm around her waist as he led her up the stairs to the east wing of the house. Her mother was out for the night and Clarke had not actually seen her in the house the entire time they had been in DC. Staying at the house for the funeral had been one of her mother's conditions for leaving Clarke alone in LA until the end of the show. While Clarke had wanted nothing more than to tell her mother to go jump off a cliff, she'd recognized the benefit in agreeing to Abigail's terms. Getting her mother off her back, even temporarily, was not a gift to pass up.

She swayed as they came to an abrupt halt. She glanced blearily around, noting they were outside her bedroom. Bellamy pushed the door open and moved to release Clarke. She stopped him, gripping his arm and pulling him inside. "Stay."

He allowed her to guide him toward the large bed centered between two windows on the far side of the room. As she turned to face him, lightly swaying on her feet, his Adam's apple bobbed and his eyes darkened. Her hand reached for his face, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw and then the sweep of his freckles before caressing his full lips. He groaned, a deep noise that shot straight to her core, as he stepped closer, his hands burning into her waist.

His tongue shot out to swipe at her fingers and Clarke nearly died of sensory overload. He pushed her roughly against the bed then, letting her fall onto her back before slowly climbing up her body like a predator stalking its prey. Clarke's mouth was dry and her pupils fully dilated by the time his face was even with hers. She licked her lips as her eyes fixated on his. His breath hitched as he lowered onto his forearms, the weight of him settling between her parted legs. Her hips instinctually bucked upward as she let out a breathy whine, "Bellamy…please."

His eyes were pitch black in the low light of the open windows as he stared down at her, his dark gaze hypnotizing. He tensed for a moment above her before something within him snapped and his mouth was on hers, devouring her, tearing apart her soul. She had never wanted something as much as she wanted him in that moment. He was answer she had been seeking and she clung to him as if her life depended on it.

Bellamy gathered her wrists above her head as he pulled back to stare hungrily down at her. Her stomach did somersaults as she met his charged gaze, each point of contact between them igniting an unbearable yearning within her. She wanted, no, she needed to be consumed by him.

As if sensing her desperation Bellamy growled low his throat, the noise feeding the flames of her desire. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her wrists with a roughness that was new, but not unwelcome. She pushed her hips against him again, frantic for the heat of him against her. He groaned deeply against her mouth before catching her bottom lip with his teeth. Where the there should have been pain, there was only pleasure. She keened with delight as he nipped at her lips again before ducking his head to bury his face in the arch of her neck. She was sure he was leaving marks, but the pleasure and alcohol coursed too strongly through her to care. Her mouth momentarily free, she moaned, "God. Bellamy, please… I need..."

He pulled back to stare down at her and then pulled further away as his gaze sharpened, as if only just realizing where he was. In an instant he was off her and beside the window, his fingers digging into the wood frame as his chest heaved, the only sound the rasp of his rapid breaths. The lights of the city and the moon illuminated his strong features in a ghostly shade of blue, his freckles standing out starkly against his olive skin as Clarke stared at him from her position on the bed.

The abrupt change in atmosphere had done a great deal to sober her up and she began to understand why he had removed himself from the situation. A wave of nausea hit her as she moved to sit up, but she had no idea if it was the alcohol or her stupidity. Shit. Staring at his tense features, she whispered, "I'm so sorry."

He looked sharply at her, eyes still dark with desire. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Clarke. I shouldn't have let it get this far."

She shook her head and crawled across the bed to face him properly. "Bellamy, I may be fairly drunk, but I still know what I'm doing. It takes two to Tango after all."

He let out a small snort at her feeble joke and Clarke couldn't help feeling gratified. "I still shouldn't have-"

"Have kissed me when I nearly begged you to? Gotten lost in the moment? Even the great Bellamy Blake is human, you know." She settled her elbows on her crossed legs, taking several steadying breaths. "I take at least half the blame here. If anyone was being taken advantage of, it was you. You've made it pretty clear you're not interested in anything with me right now, but I keep pushing you. That isn't very fair."

He sighed and leaned deeper into the windowsill, a hand running through his hair as he turned to face her. It had fallen out of its gelled state during the evening and was now disorderly as ever. "This isn't working for me."

A bolt of panic shot through Clarke, tearing her further back to sobriety. "What?"

He motioned between them. "Us. All this tension infusing every single interaction we have."

She tried to remain calm, but a rising tide of despair threatened to overwhelm her. They still had three weeks on the show if they made it to the finals. Was he going to ask her to withdraw? Would she do it if he asked? She had no idea. No idea about anything. In her quest to escape reality she had only managed to run full speed into it again.

The pain of Wells' death surged through the fog of her anguish, momentarily overwhelming any lingering traces of desire. Her breath caught in her throat and her stomach churned at she stared into his stormy eyes. She couldn't lose Bellamy. Not when the only thing keeping her together was the Blakes. Her voice wavered as she asked, "what are you saying, Bellamy?"

"I don't know. I've never had this problem before. It's always been strictly business with all my previous partners. Sure there was some chemistry with a few of them, but nothing ever happened during the run of the show. And I never really felt anything but basic attraction to them." He paused, drinking her in, his dark stare sending tremors down Clarke's spine. "Nothing like what I feel for you, Clarke. When we're in the same room, I feel like I'm on fire. I can't concentrate on anything but you. You drive me fucking crazy, Princess."

Clarke jaw dropped as she stared at him with wide eyes. Her heart thundered in her chest as she spoke, "I feel the same way. I keep trying to ignore it, to tell myself that I just find you attractive. That this thing will pass with time. For the longest time I just thought it was because of Wells. He's gone and I needed someone to fill the void, to depend on and there you were." She glanced up at him, gaze lingering on his parted lips and severe angles before averting her stare to the glowing moon beyond him, eyes tracing familiar craters with obsessive intensity. "I tried to tell myself you were just convenient, that I wasn't thinking straight. But I know that's not true. I am still vulnerable and I am still finding my way through the world without my best friend, but you see inside my soul, Bellamy, and you make me into someone I never dreamed I could be. I have no idea what to call that and really no good way to describe what you do to me."

She could see his jaw working, the muscle in his cheek popping with increased tension as he turned back to stare out the window. "Shit, Clarke. You can't just say that to a guy."

Clarke shrugged unapologetically. "I figured we were having an honest conversation. You deserve to know how I feel."

His head bowed in acceptance before he turned back to her, his expression guarded. "If we're being honest, then I need to say this. I believe that whatever is between us is real, but I'm not willing to risk my career, your performance on the show and your emotional state. We come from different worlds, Clarke. No matter how attracted I am to you, I can't go down that path right now. Maybe not ever. So I just want to get through the next few weeks, which means no more putting ourselves in situations like this. Right now we need to concentrate on dancing, just dancing. If we need to bring a bit of passion to a dance, fine, but I can't live like this, Clarke, and I sure as hell can't work like this."

She stared at him, uncertain how to react. Her heart constricted in her chest as his severe words echoed in her ears. "Are you asking me to move out?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "That would make things easier, but that's hardly a solution. I think O would kill me if I kicked you out. Hell, I would kill me. I'm just asking for boundaries."

"Can we still be friends?"

Her eyes were welling with unshed tears as she tried to keep her cool. He wasn't breaking up with her, they had never even been together, but it still felt like she'd been sucker punched. She had just wanted to be surrounded by friends tonight and somehow she had fucked even that up. He took a step forward and reached out to her for a moment before thinking better of the gesture and letting his arms hang limply at his sides. "I'm here for you. No matter what our drama is, we're friends."

She let out a breath of relief before wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. "Thank you. I'll try to just let it be dancing for the next few weeks, okay?"

He gripped her tightly back. "That's all I could ask for. I just need to keep this professional until the show is over, then we can try and figure it out. I don't want to get so distracted that I let you down. I'm sorry, I just can't give you what you want right now."

Clarke nodded into his chest, savoring the feel of him against her. "That's okay. Thank you for coming to the funeral with me."

"Thank you for trusting me enough to let me be here." He pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her hair before stepping out of her embrace. His dark eyes lingered, searching her face. His lips tugged down in a frown as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Will you be okay alone tonight? I could stay." He motioned toward the Lazy Boy in the corner across from the windows.

She wanted desperately to tell him yes, to feel the calm of his presence as she tried to weather this terrible night, but she couldn't bring her lips to move. Instead, she dropped her chin to her chest and shook her head. She barely heard him murmur, "Get some rest, Clarke. I'm just down the hall if you need me." Then he was gone, door shutting with ominous finality behind him

As soon as the latch clicked she collapsed against her pillows, tears trailing down her cheeks. Their relationship had been somewhere good and she just had to go and stuff it all up. Even though the memory of him grinding into her sent erotic chills up her spine, she would take it back in an instant if she could have their comfortable companionship back.

Sighing, she stood to remove the black lace dress and pull on sleeping shorts and a tank top before slipping under the covers. She tugged the blankets to her chin as she stared out into the semidarkness of the bedroom, wishing desperately she could talk to Wells. He would know how to make her feel whole again. She dug her hands into the sheets, twisting violently as she tried to block out the memory of his casket lowering into cold, hard ground. A silent sob wracked through her as she burrowed further under the blankets, more lost than ever.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: "God match me with a good dancer!" - Much Ado About Nothing**

Clarke stared back at Bellamy, tying to ignore the six cameras pointed at her face. "You want to do what?"

"I want to make our Rhumba tell a story. I want it to be on the edge of your seat emotional. Something raw and passionate."

She wanted to ask why the hell he thought it was a good idea to bring their emotions into the conversation after D.C., but she couldn't very well do that in a room full of cameras and techs. She settled for asking, "Like acting?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Like a storybook ballet, but more intense and dark."

"Okay. What are you thinking?"

Although they had done their best to pretend nothing had changed, Octavia had rounded on them the minute they'd arrived home from D.C. Her blue eyes had sparked with anger as she glared at them before grinding out, "I have no idea what the hell went wrong in D.C., but the two of you need to get over it. You have the potential to win this season and I won't see my brother blowing it because of some girl. Even if said girl a good friend. Okay?"

Clarke and Bellamy had stood speechless in the living room for several minutes before glancing at each other. Bellamy's expression had been pained as he admitted they needed to try harder if they were going to get through this. So they'd worked their asses off during Monday's practice and dress rehearsal and then killed their Salsa that evening. Most of the dancing had been Clarke alone at the front of the group, which had suited her just fine considering the fragile state of their relationship. They earned three perfect 10s and a 9 for the effort. Octavia had been somewhat kinder to both of them after that night, but she continuously reminded them to keep their shit together.

Clarke had known trouble was ahead the minute Bellamy told her their next dance was Rhumba. In addition to being infamous for difficult hip action, the Rhumba was famous for its continuous lines and sensual motion. Now Bellamy was making it worse by turning it into an emotionally charged story.

"I want it to be a story of passionate, violent and ultimately destructive love."

Clarke swallowed. He had to be kidding, right? One glance at his face assured her he was deadly serious. His dark eyes glowed with excitement as he stepped closer to her.

"It's never been done on the show. Not something so emotionally raw. I want to show them what we can do. We can showcase how versatile a dancer you are and really display the raw, vulnerable side of both of us."

"Are we really sure we want to be putting ourselves out there right now?" she hissed, stepping closer to him while doing her best not to react to their proximity.

His voice was rough as he replied, "It's not going away, Clarke. We might as well use it to our advantage."

"Okay. I'm in."

He nodded, stepping away from her. "Good. We'll start at a dinner table, your average wife has cooked for her husband sort of thing, and then a fight. Maybe I grab you and then you slap me. We'll use the dance to illustrate the desperate love we have for each other, but also how that love is inevitably destructive and unhealthy."

"You want me to slap you."

He shrugged at her, dark brown eyes laden with intensity. "We have to make it feel real. So yeah, you're going to actually slap me."

Clarke took a deep breath and reminded herself this was important for both of them. If they could show the judges how multifaceted they could be, it would be a big step towards the Mirror Ball Trophy. Somewhere along the line the show had stopped being about her success and become equally about his. Regardless of the current tension between them, she wanted to win for Bellamy, not herself. She had already proved her point; Clarke Griffin was no longer only her mother's daughter. The world was watching her dance and Clarke couldn't have been more overjoyed that she had finally broken free.

She was under no illusions that the freedom would last beyond her completion of the show, but she was determined savor it while she could. All the drama with Bellamy aside, she was having the time of her life in the studio. Each day she awoke impatient to spend hours of grueling practice chasing after perfection. The pain of Wells' loss still haunted her, but she'd learned to move past it, to not let it overwhelm her so often. She knew Wells would want her to pursue her passion for dance with abandon, so she drew strength from that conviction, transmuting grief to dedication. The situation with Bellamy certainly could be less awkward, but she couldn't bring herself to regret having him as a partner. Not only had he forced his way into the depths of her being, but his rigid work ethic had also pushed her to the pinnacle of her abilities. Dancing with him was still the ultimate experience and Clarke knew that this Rhumba was going to be no exception to that rule.

"Okay, so I'm going to actually slap you." Clarke took a deep breath. "Let's get started?"

"Get ready to dance your heart out, Princess," he replied, holding out a hand. She slipped her own into his, the movement as comfortable as breathing.

S~*~S

Clarke took a steadying breath as she braced her forearms on the table at center stage. During the rehearsal blocking, Bellamy had left out the introductory choreography to increase the shock factor during the live show. They'd talked it over with the tech guys, Jasper and Monty, but no one else knew what they were about to do.

Monty cued them from the lighting booth with a shift in the spotlight and she raised her eyes to meet Bellamy's severe stare. He lifted an empty plate in front of him, motioning to her to deal with it. When she did nothing, he scowled and slammed the plate back onto the table. She returned his hard stare, trying to feed all her frustration into the look and slammed her own plate down in response. He growled, moving to stand as she used both hands to sweep the dishes from the table. As they clattered to the ballroom floor, she turned away from him and stalked across the stage. His strong grip halted her motion and she used the momentum of his grab to swing around and connect her right hand with his cheek. The slap was a brutal sound in the silence and she could see a hand shaped mark emerging on his face. He stared back at her with broken eyes and Clarke nearly forgot they were acting. The gasps of the audience were soon accompanied by the first strains of "Read All About It (Pt. III)" by Emeli Sandé and Clarke remembered where they were just in time to turn away, burying her face in her hands.

She turned slowly back to him, taking in the hunch of his shoulders as he stood across from her, head bowed. She rushed to him on instinct, thankful that her movements synched with the choreography. They began to move together now, a constant push and pull between them. One minute, she was pushing him away, her stomach turning in guilt as she watched anguish encompass his handsome features. The next moment, she was clinging to him as if her life depended on it. All while letting her hips sway sensually to the Rhumba choreography.

As they progressed, it was his turn to cling to her, warm hands sliding along her arms as she flinched away from him, fear of their violence apparent on her face. Clarke nearly cried out in sorrow as he pushed her away from him, curling naturally into a ball on the ground, sheltering herself from him. And then he was above her, his dark eyes gleaming with passion and regret as he lifted her to him, trying to apologize for her fear yet knowing an apology was too little, too late. As the last strains of the music vibrated through them, he fell to his knees before her, burying his face in her stomach as her arms came around him, accepting the apology.

They stood there, wrapped in each other as the applause roared around them. Clarke could barely hear it; she felt like she had just run a marathon at 14,000 feet. Her lungs burned and her heart raced in her chest. All she could feel was Bellamy against her, grounding her. She knew they had been acting, that their relationship, although charged, was not nearly as tempestuous as the one they had just portrayed, but each time she recalled the anguish in his eyes her hold on him tightened. She wanted to apologize for something she'd never even done.

Eventually he lifted his head from her stomach, remaining kneeling before her as he gazed up at her with wide eyes. His pupils were blown wide and his bare chest heaved, as if he'd just pulled away from a heated kiss. She swallowed and pulled on his shoulders, trying to get him to stand. He must have realized they were on the brink of causing a scene because he rocketed to his feet, his arm settling around her waist as he led her to stand in front of the judges. Before they reached Tom Burgeron, Bellamy leaned into her, hot breath ghosting over her ear as he whispered, "You were amazing. That was the most intense thing I've ever done."

Clarke squeezed his free hand, the only response she could give as they now stood before the judges' table. Tom turned to them, noting, "You could have heard a pin drop in here at the beginning of that. Wow. Let's start with Bruno."

"Tempestuous melodrama. Totally Tennessee Williams!" Clarke nodded at the reference. She hadn't realized it before, but their dance did have echoes of A Streetcar Named Desire. Bruno continued on in his usual fashion but Clarke had stopped paying attention. Bellamy's arm was branding her back where they touched and she had the urge to be closer to him, to feel that searing heat throughout her body. She bit her lip, tasting blood. Good, at least the pain distracted her from that mental rabbit hole.

The past week had been nothing short of a battle for self-control. In order to show raw emotion in the performance, Clarke had to let down her emotional barriers and that meant feeling her ardent desire for Bellamy nearly constantly as they rehearsed. Her desire was not particularly physical, avoiding pushing him into the wall and ravishing him was actually fairly easy. What was difficult was not connecting with him emotionally despite the raw nature of the dance. She was so used to needing him, allowing him into her innermost being, that their current distance made her feel as if the ground had fallen out from under her and she no longer had any idea how to stand on her own. During their performance tonight he'd grounded her once more and she wasn't sure she was going to survive having that ripped away from her again.

Bellamy was saying something biting under his breath, but Clarke had no idea what he was reacting to. She let him lead her up the stairs and into the interview area with Erin Andrews. Looking at him as they paused next to Erin, Clarke realized that he was seriously pissed. His mouth was set in a firm line and his left eye twitched as he fought to stay calm. She squeezed his hand and moved to whisper in his ear. "I have no idea what you're upset about, Bellamy, because I didn't hear a word the judges said."

He slanted his eyes over to her, but kept facing forward, his lips twitching upward into a smile for Erin and the audience at home. He muttered, "Good" under his breath before facing Erin more fully.

"So that was kind of harsh. What do you think, Clarke?"

"I think that was one of the most amazing dance experiences of my life and that no one can take that moment away from Bellamy or myself."

Erin smiled at her. "Well put. How about you Bellamy? You looked pretty disgruntled by some of our guest Judge's comments."

Bellamy slid his eyes Clarke's direction briefly before answering in a surprising clam manner. "I agree with Clarke. I think the dance was extraordinary and I just feel extremely blessed to be able to dance with this talented woman."

Erin looked briefly disappointed at the lack of fire in his response, but she quickly recovered with a request for their scores. They got two nines, an eight and a ten, which Clarke found confusing since she knew it was by far their best dance together.

As soon as Erin dismissed them, Bellamy was dragging her down the hallway in a move reminiscent of their first night on the show. Once they were deep in the bowls of backstage, he slammed a fist into the concrete wall and rounded on her seething. "That was complete bullshit. I can't believe that woman had the gall to stand there and say those things to you."

Clarke blinked at up at him. "Bellamy, I told you I have no idea what you're talking about. I wasn't paying any attention."

"You really didn't hear?"

"I really didn't hear and I really don't care. I have never felt that way in my life and I meant it when I said no one could take that away from us."

His shoulders sagged in relief at her words. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing up his curls, before sinking to the ground. Clarke lowered herself to the floor next to him, careful not to get too close. They sat in silence for several minutes, before she glanced over at him. His eyes were shut and his head was tilted back against the wall, exposing the curve of his neck to her. She wanted to lean over and run her tongue across the tantalizingly exposed skin, but she had promised him no distractions and she was going to keep her end of the bargain. Instead, she tried to memorize each of his freckles, mapping them in her mind and imagining constellations on his skin.

"I can feel you staring at me, Princess." His rough voice cut through the silence.

She shrugged, knowing he couldn't see her. "It's been a long day. Give a girl a break."

He rolled his head so he now faced her before opening his eyes, the brown orbs nearly black in the dim light of the hallway. "Give a guy a break."

"Fine." She turned back to stare at the empty wall across from them. "How the hell am I supposed to come down from that high, Bellamy? I can still feel every part of my body tingling and it's driving me insane."

He sighed, a rush of warm breath and understanding. "I have no idea, Clarke. I've never felt that intensely while dancing. It's like I lost myself in the character."

She nodded. "Me too. From the very beginning when I slapped you, I was in and out of reality. It's a miracle I even got through the choreography. Thank God for muscle memory. The weird thing was that every raw instinct I had aligned with the choreography so even when I totally forgot where I was, it all seemed to work."

"That's…" She glanced back over at him. His forehead was furrowed in thought and he stared at her with raw emotion for the first time since the end of their dance. "That's really fucking intense, Clarke."

"I know."

"Damn." He closed his eyes as he resumed his previous pose against the wall. His jaw muscle twitched for a moment before he relaxed.

Clarke was silent for a few minutes before deciding that she might as well say what she was thinking, previous conversations be damned. "I told you before that you undo me. I wasn't kidding. When I dance with you I feel like I've been torn apart and put back together as something more graceful and powerful. You make me into something I never imagined I could be. Tonight was just a very visceral example of that."

His eyes stayed closed as he said, voice ragged with emotion, "I think you might have that effect on me too, Princess."

She stared at him, drinking in his words. He hadn't moved a muscle since speaking and she was afraid that touching him now would ruin the moment. Instead, she tried to memorize him. She wanted to remember every detail of him from his angled jaw to his strong arms slung over his raised knees to the way his hair splattered across the cement wall. He was so vulnerable in this moment and she didn't want to forget a single freckle. Finally, he opened his eyes and turned to her, as if sensing her intense scrutiny.

Clarke met his raw gaze. "What the hell are we going to do now, Bellamy?"

"I have no idea, Clarke. No fucking idea."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: "Presume not that I am the thing I was." - Henry IV Part II**

Clarke moaned as she sank onto the couch in the break room, delighting in the feel of her muscles finally unwinding. Practice was as brutal as ever and despite their mutual revelation Monday night, they were continuing on as if nothing had changed. Neither of them had any idea what the intensity of their connection meant and at this point they were too exhausted to give it much thought.

The competition was heating up now that only Clarke, Charlotte, Raven, Atom and Lincoln were left. Octavia had been over the moon when Atom had made it into the semifinal, but she was terrified that the semifinal elimination would be the end of the road for them. Clarke was thankful that the younger Blake was now entirely occupied with her partner. As long as Octavia concentrated on Atom, Bellamy and Clarke were mercifully free of her judgmental stares and snide comments. The Blake household felt normal again, dinner conversation filled with anecdotes from the studio and other trivial topics of conversation.

Clarke was doing her best to give Bellamy the space he'd requested in D.C. Other than their hours in the studio together she rarely saw him. After dinner, she retreated to her room and either read or worked on a sketch she had begun of Wells. One of the only good things to emerge from the intense ordeal of his funeral was the abrupt dissolution of her drawing creative block. Now her fingers itched to put pencil to paper, wanting to bring her best friend back to life. The sketch was nothing extravagant, but Clarke was taking her time with it, trying to give justice to Wells' joy de vive. When she wasn't working on the drawing, she hid it behind the bed, not yet ready for either Blake to discover it. With Octavia she simply didn't want to explain everything, but Bellamy was an entirely more complicated story. A conversation about the drawing would pull them dangerously close to the emotional territory they had spent the past weeks avoiding with the exception of their transformative Rhumba, which had left them both shaken and perhaps even more desperate to evade such emotional situations.

"This end of the couch taken?" Raven Reyes stood above her, brow arched and arms crossed.

Clarke shook her head. "All yours."

"I don't know about you, but I'm beat. Miller is such a hardass, but then I guess you would know that." Raven peered at her though dark lashes, her expression unreadable. Despite talking a few times during the partner swap in week four neither Clarke nor Raven had gone out of their way to interact with the other. Clarke held no dislike for Raven, but the other woman's fiery intensity was intimidating. Not to mention that Raven was here because she had already made a name for herself. The fierce brunette embodied many of the qualities that Clarke wished for herself, but knew she lacked.

Realizing Raven was still staring at her, Clarke cleared her throat. "Um, yeah. He's a real stickler for technique. Though I found it easier working with him than Bellamy. Everything is just so intense with Bellamy. It's exhausting."

The other woman stared at her, as if trying to figure something out. "So you and Blake are an item?"

Adrenaline shot down Clarke's spine, leaving her fingers tingling in its wake. She reminded herself that breathing was a good thing as she stared back at Raven, trying not to be a deer in the headlights. "What? No."

"I thought for sure you two were fucking like bunnies." Raven frowned at her. "I mean it's practically like watching foreplay when you dance. Anyway, I see the way he looks at you. There is no way you guys are just partners."

Clarke shifted, trying not to expose her discomfort. She and Raven were not nearly good enough acquaintances to be having this conversation. "Well, you're wrong. We are just partners and friends. That's it."

Raven shrugged. "Well if you ever feel like changing that, I guarantee satisfaction. That man knows exactly what he's doing."

"Huh?" Clarke froze in place as she stared at Raven. Bellamy and Raven? When had there even been time for that to happen? Her stomach revolted as a wave of nausea washed over her. She knew Bellamy's reputation. How had she fooled herself into thinking that he was waiting for her?

Raven continued on in her praises, oblivious to Clarke's inner turmoil. "I mean I'm not usually one to talk about guys. I believe in not kissing and telling, but holy shit was that sex mind blowing. I'd highly recommend you guys working out whatever is going on because… wow."

Clarke muttered some phrase of agreement before pushing off the couch and rushing to the nearest bathroom. Grasping the sink with trembling fingers, she stared at her red-rimmed eyes. Dark shadows tugged at her eyes and her pallid skin glowed unhealthily in the fluorescent light, making her appear more zombie than human.

The door banged open and abruptly she was staring over her shoulder at Octavia. The brunette gave her a quick once over before ordering, "Stay."

Clarke blinked and Octavia was gone. She met her own confused stare in the mirror, wondering if she had imagined her friend. Maybe she had been so desperate for someone that her mind had conjured Octavia. She was proved wrong an instant later when Bellamy stormed into the bathroom, looking like he expected blood not tears. He froze when he saw her reflection in the mirror, his dark eyes swirling with a myriad of emotions. He approached her slowly as if she were a frightened animal, apt to flee if he moved too swiftly. He held her stare in the mirror throughout his approach and despite her growing embarrassment, Clarke was thankful for his presence. He stopped just behind her. She could feel the heat of him seeping into her back, but he didn't raise a hand or touch her in any way.

"Princess." His voice was soft, the word a plea. "Let's get you out of here."

She tried to ignore the trembling of her bottom lip as she whispered, "Go where?"

He shrugged, his mouth pulled taut as his eyes bored into hers. "Anywhere but here. I think you need a break and I know I could use one."

She nodded and his shoulders immediately relaxed, his whole stance transforming before her eyes. He gave a reassuring smile as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I've got you. Have you ever been to Griffith Observatory?"

Savoring the heat of his hand against her, Clarke barely paid attention to his question. Observatory? She didn't even know LA had one. "Never heard of it."

"Good." He pulled her around to face him. "I know there's a lot of pressure on you right now, Clarke. I'm sorry. I know things between us aren't helping either."

She couldn't exactly deny that he was a major part of her stress, so she shrugged. "That's life, right?"

His dark eyes roamed her face for a moment before he gave a short nod. "That it is. Come on, let's go."

Bellamy dropped his hand from her shoulder as he moved to open the door. Clarke trailed silently behind him out the bathroom door and through the labyrinth of the studio. Once outside Clarke climbed into Bellamy's black Jeep on autopilot, trusting him to ferry her to their destination, no questions asked. The heavy LA air rushed past her face and tangled her hair as the soft top Wrangler Rubicon drove down Sunset Blvd. Clarke could practically feel the dirt and smog assaulting her skin, but the breeze was nicer than the stifling atmosphere of the studio, so she didn't complain.

Bellamy hadn't spoken since the bathroom and Clarke found the silence comforting. There was so much between them now and it was nice to forget, if only for a moment, how horrendously complex things had become. Instead of dwelling on the tangled mire of emotion that was their relationship, she focused on the passing houses and businesses, forever amazed at the sprawling nature of Los Angeles. The area they were driving through had nice homes with vast green lawns, but in another block the landscape would instantly transform into strip malls and mix-matched apartment buildings.

Their surroundings took an abrupt turn for the natural as they began to gain elevation. Bellamy drove up to a split in the road where cars started to dot the roadside before parking the jeep behind a blue BMW. He quickly hopped down and strode around the Jeep to help Clarke. While the drop wasn't particularly far, he had parked in a ravine and she appreciated the helping hand as she dropped her sneaker clad feet to the ground.

His fingers remained laced with hers, his warmth percolating into her, as he led the way towards a palatial building near the edge of a cliff. The Hollywood Sign loomed above them as they crossed the front lawn toward the building, which Clarke figured had to be the observatory. She paused at the entrance of the white stone building, searching for the ticket counter. Bellamy tugged on her hand, leading her up the steps.

"It's free, Princess."

"Oh," she murmured. The inside of the observatory was a science museum, various physics and astronomy displays littering the walls. Clarke relaxed amid the optics demonstrations and solar system models. It had been a long time since she'd visited a science museum, but she'd spent her childhood exploring them with her father. Jake Griffin had been passionate about his daughter understanding science. He had never pushed her toward the sciences, but he had been adamant that no child of his would grow up without understanding the fundamental laws of physics and their applications. She'd spent summers at science camps while other girls her age flocked to arts and crafts. Clarke had done her share of crafts too, but her father had made sure she was thoroughly rounded in her education. Being back in the middle of miniature planets and prisms made her feel closer to him, as if his loss hadn't been slowly boring a hole through her heart for two years.

Bellamy was staring at her with questioning eyes, and Clarke realized she'd frozen in place. "It's fine. This place just reminds me of my dad." She led him towards a display that explained the difference between the optics in reflecting and refracting telescopes. "He was an engineer, you see, and I spent my entire childhood going to science museums throughout the country. Whatever city we went to for whatever stupid campaign function, he made sure we stopped at a museum, even if was just a small one with only a room or two in it."

He nodded, his expression a cross between fondness and sadness. "I wish I'd had that. I tried to take Octavia to as many museums as possible, but money was always tight and there really wasn't that much near us."

Clarke frowned at him, realizing she had no idea where they were from. "Did you guys grow up in LA?"

"Nah," he said, motioning her up the stairs to the observation deck of the observatory. "We moved to LA after our dancing careers actually took off. We're from Erie, Colorado."

"Colorado? I've only been a few times, mostly for ski trips to Aspen. It's a beautiful state."

"Of course you've been to Aspen, Princess." His tone wasn't as biting as it could have been, but she could hear the unspoken resentment simmering below the surface. "I've never been. It's too much of a playground for the rich and famous for any of us normal folk. Sorry, but it's true."

Avoiding his loaded gaze, she stared out at the smoggy downtown LA skyline. "So what's Erie like?"

"Normal American city. Probably a little nicer than some I suppose. Near Boulder, which is to be avoided at all costs and not too far from Denver, which was good since O and I could get started in the performing arts world fairly easily. The studio we went to in Arvada really made it possible for O to achieve her dreams and I just ended up going along for the ride."

He was leaning his forearms on the railing, staring into the distance. Clarke had talked with Octavia about their childhood more than Bellamy, but neither had been particularly forthcoming. Even now his jaw was taut, his dark eyes hard.

"You ended up becoming an amazing dancer, Bellamy. O thinks you're even better than her."

His jaw clenched, but otherwise he didn't react to her words. After a minute of heavy silence he glanced over at her. "Dancing was O's dream, not mine. Don't get me wrong, I do love it and dancing with you has changed my view on a lot of things. At the end of the day though, dancing is my job. It's a way to take care of O and make sure that we're okay."

Clarke turned to lean her back against the stone railing. She crossed her arms and stared back at Bellamy. "Okay. So if you could do anything you wanted, what would it be?"

"Teach history."

She almost laughed before she realized that Bellamy's eyes held no hint of humor. Schooling her features and hoping her initial response had not been obvious, she asked, "What type of history?"

"Classical. I love the Greeks and the Romans." He ducked his head, sliding his eyes back to the skyline.

Clarke stared at the strong line of his jaw and wondered what else she didn't know about Bellamy Blake. He had seemed such an open and shut case at the beginning of their time together, but he had surprised her, proving her long list of assumptions wrong at every turn. "Have you done anything about this interest of yours?"

Clarke was surprised when he nodded. "Yeah."

She let the silence hang between them for a second before prompting, "And what might you have done? I'm in no position to judge you, Bellamy."

He glanced up at her, his dark eyes searching her face. "I've never told anyone this, not even O."

"I'm not going to go around sharing your secrets. Lord knows you have enough blackmail material on me to last several lifetimes…"

"Okay." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I have a college degree from Colorado State University in Classical History. It took almost six years to complete that and the GED, but I finished last year. I didn't tell O because I know she feels bad about not having finished high school, let alone gone to college, and I don't want to put pressure on her to change her career or make her regret her choices."

"Bellamy," Clarke sighed. "Octavia would be happy for you, not upset. I can promise you that. You should tell her. How'd you even manage the time to do that anyway? Wouldn't everyone notice you going to classes?"

"It was all online through their Global Campus thing. I just told O that I was out with some girl and went to the UCLA library instead."

"Six years is an awful long time to hide something like that."

He nodded, running a hand through his hair, a motion that Clarke had come to recognize as a nervous habit. "I didn't know if I was going to finish and I didn't want to tell anyone until I was done. And by the time I was done, I was so used to hiding it that I just let it slip under the radar."

Clarke reached out to him, gripping his strong shoulder with her small hand. "You need to tell O. She'll be livid that you hid it from her for like ten minutes and then she'll be ecstatic. Trust me."

"I'll think about it." He turned away from the view and motioned toward the stairs leading to the lawn below. "Care to sit down?"

Clarke nodded, accepting that the conversation was over. She couldn't help staring at the back of his head in wonder as they descended. The idea of him as simply an arrogant dancer seemed laughable now. It was clear that although dancing was very much a part of who he was, he felt there was more out there for him. He'd become a dancer because that's what his sister had needed. Clarke had known he would do anything for Octavia, but she hadn't realized how much he'd already sacrificed. Despite the knowledge that dancing was not his first love, Clarke was glad that he'd made the decision to support his sister in her dream. Without him following this path, she would never have experienced the electric feelings and utter freedom that came from dancing with him. She knew it was a selfish thing to think, but he had given her so much and she could not wish that either of them had taken a different path.

He motioned to a patch of grass in front of them. "Will this do, Princess?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "It's fine."

They settled to the ground, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat of the other. The Hollywood Sign loomed in front of them and Clarke was reminded of all the dreamers that came to LA hoping for their big break. In reality, Bellamy and Octavia were extremely lucky to have achieved their level of success. Most who came to this town never escaped their jobs at nightclubs and bars.

Her teeth worried her lip as she squinted at the sun hanging high in the western sky, tracing its brilliant rays to the Santa Monica Mountains and the distant Pacific Ocean. Clarke had never been the biggest fan of the beach, her memories from childhood too marred by aborted outings to the Rockaways. Still, there was something inescapably enthralling about the waves rolling across the ever-changing sands, footsteps disappearing seconds after their creation. It was all one horrible metaphor for life really. In the global scale, they were all just footprints on the beach, waiting to be washed away by the rising tide. She sighed, redirecting her gaze to the glittering skyscrapers of downtown LA.

"You want to talk about it?"

She startled, having momentarily forgotten that Bellamy sat beside her. A glance his direction revealed luminous brown eyes boring into her with frightening intensity. She swallowed, dropping her gaze to the lush grass. "Just pondering mortality."

He hummed lightly, the deep noise vibrating through her. "Clarke." She lifted her head to meet his penetrating stare, all too aware of the heat that pooled within her the longer she held his dark gaze. "I know I can't say anything to make it better. But there is a time for all things. We savor them while we can and then we have to let them go."

A lump rose in her throat as she realized he was talking about Wells and perhaps even her father and his mother. Their late night communions on the couch had ceased without comment from either of them the week after the funeral. She was giving Bellamy his distance and besides, she needed a better coping mechanism than drinking herself to sleep. Clarke knew she was barely on the road to recovery, but she wasn't certain she could talk to Bellamy about Wells right now. It was a raw subject and she had no idea if she and Bellamy were in the right place for that conversation. She wanted to talk to him, to have him help her untangle the chaos in her mind, but the distance between them had only grown since their Rhumba.

"You can talk to me." He'd shifted during her prolonged silence, moving into her space, and now his warm breath ghosted over her cheek as he ducked his head to meet her desolate stare.

Clarke looked steadily back at him, wishing she knew what lay beyond the dark depths of his chocolate eyes. "Can I?"

"Clarke," his voice was strained now. "You know you can."

"How can I know you're not just going to shut me out and fall back on all that bullshit about professionalism? I needed you that night in D.C." She didn't dare look at him as she forged onward, her voice barely a whisper. "I fucking needed you, Bell. But one moment of weakness and suddenly I was paying for it, for our mistake. I needed my friend, but he was six feet in the ground. And I needed you, but you walked out the damn door."

His breath hitched against her cheek, but she refused to look up. She was so damn confused around him and this moment was no exception. The silence between them drew out painfully, the vibrant green of the grass blurring as she refused to blink. Finally, he spoke, a hoarse croak into the still afternoon air. "God, Clarke. I'm so sorry. I should have known. Why didn't you ask me to stay? I offered…"

"And what? Be rejected by you again?" She tried to mask the bitterness in her voice, but it was useless. That had been one of the worst nights of her life and just the memory of it had her quaking with grief and anger.

"I asked…I wanted to give you space-"

"Space? Did I look like I needed space?" She looked at him now, her eyes blazing with indignation. "I got drunk to forget. I got so fucking drunk I didn't feel the gaping wound in my heart. I thought it would be okay, that I was with friends. But then it got complicated and you fucking bailed."

He stared back at her, eyes unreadable and jaw twitching with tension. She knew she had no right to yell at him about this, that she hadn't asked him to stay when he'd offered, but she was beyond logic. The last two weeks had been spent bottling her emotions away, pretending his rejection hadn't stung like a swarm of hornets. Clarke was over it. Gritting her teeth, she spat out her next question, "Did you sleep with Raven?"

His dark eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He managed to recover fairly quickly as he stared at her, his eyes flashing between confusion and a darker emotion. "Who told you that?"

"Raven."

At this, his expression shuttered and his eyes snapped closed. Bellamy's voice was deep and rough as he muttered, "Yeah."

Clarke felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. So Raven hadn't been lying to her. She pushed down the despair spiraling though her. He didn't owe her an explanation and she wasn't going to debase herself and ask. As she stared down at the grass, she became aware of a tingling at the base of her neck and turned to find Bellamy staring at her. Steeling herself, she met his dark stare.

His eyes were a swirl of regret and pain. He reached for her, ensnaring her hands and pulling them toward him. She could feel him trembling despite his strong grip. "Clarke. It was long before you and I even really knew each other. Roma and I were having an off week, probably when she and Lexa had their fling now that I think about it, and Raven and I had been paired for the swap week. I guess I figured what the hell, I wasn't going to be her long term partner."

"But you were her partner." Clarke stared down at their joined hands. She was torn between the urge to rip her hands away from his or never let go. She knew her anger was irrational, but she had no idea how to quell the rising tide of her frustration. "You told me you don't sleep with your partners."

He pulled sharply on her hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I don't. It was an honest mistake. I was lonely. She was lonely. It just happened the once."

Clarke counted his freckles to avoid meeting his eyes. "You don't owe me an explanation, Bellamy."

"Yes, I do," he insisted. "Ever since the night Wells died, I haven't been with anyone else. The day after you spent that first night at our house, I broke up with Roma permanently. I knew I felt something for you even then and I wasn't willing to string Roma along, not once I knew it would never be the same, that I didn't truly want her. I can't look at other woman the same way anymore, Princess."

"Then what the hell is keeping us apart, Bellamy? Tell me!" She knew she sounded desperate, but she was so damn tired of this back and forth between them. He had said he couldn't live like this in D.C. and she was beginning to realize that neither could she. "You can sleep with Raven but you can't be there when I need you most? It's okay for us to be friends, but you run away the minute things get complicated? What the hell are you afraid of, Bellamy?"

His grip on her hands tightened as he murmured, his voice a smoky baritone, "Look at me, Clarke." As if possessed, she raised her eyes from boring holes in the turf. His gaze seared her to the core, sending tremors through her. He released one hand to run his thumb along her cheek, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "I only want what's best for you, Clarke, and I'm not sure that I'm the right thing for you right now. You're still hurting from Wells and I have no idea if you and I even have a future beyond the show."

Staring into his dark eyes, joy and frustration warred though her in equal measure. "Bellamy, I will always be hurting from Wells, just like the pain of losing my dad has never gone away. Just like you can't forget your mother. It's been over five weeks, and while I may not be the best candidate for a relationship, I can't help thinking that's not why you're saying no."

Now it was his turn to drop his dark eyes, his hands releasing hers as he turned away from her probing stare. She watched the muscles of his jaw work, his eyes fixed on the glistening skyline. When he spoke his words were as sharp as shattered glass. "Princess, we're from very different worlds and I know I can't fit into yours. Not now and certainly not in the future. As much as you might hate the title, you are America's Princess, Clarke, and I don't even come close to being in the same league as you."

Clarke stared at him in disbelief. That he thought so little of himself in comparison to her was absurd. He was the one with the star-studded name. Clarke was just another no one with an unfortunate relation to Abigail Griffin, a woman famous simply because she'd made the right backroom deals for the last thirty years. If anything, he was out of her league. "Bellamy…"

"It's true, Princess."

"It's total bullshit," she challenged, eyes flashing dangerously. He was not getting away with denying her this, denying himself this, just because her mother was a bitch with 24-7 access to the White House. "I am not better than you, Bellamy. And anyway, you must not know me very well if you think I'm going to go back and live that life."

His eyes widened as his head snapped back toward her. "What?"

"I'd have to be a fool to back to DC now. I can't go back to that world, live that life. Not anymore. I'm going to withdraw from medical school as soon as all this is over. I thought I was doing it for my father, but I realize that's a foolish way to think about it. He would never have been happy that I was doing something I hated. I never even imagined I could escape that life until I met you and Octavia. Now it's impossible to go back." She glanced at Bellamy's shocked expression. "So if that's the only reason we're caught in this god-awful dance of denial…"

He tilted his head in wonder, staring at her as if he had only just seen her. He brought his hands up to cradle her face, moving to kneel in front of her. "What are you saying, Princess?"

"I'm saying that if you're avoiding starting something because you think it would never work because of who I am, you need to think again. I want to dance. I want to embrace this side of myself not only for some reality television show, but also for the rest of my life. I want to dance and most importantly, I want to dance with you. You're my best friend right now, Bellamy, and I can't imagine a world where that isn't true. Please don't let my mother ruin this for me too."

She barely had time to catch her breath after her speech before his lips were crashing down on hers. They moved against hers with desperate joy, as if he wasn't sure this was real and he wanted to savor each moment lest reality break them apart. She smiled into the kiss, drinking in the feel of him against her. He pulled away all too soon, resting his forehead against hers as he stared at her in amazement. She brought up a hand and buried it in his dark curls. "So we can stop torturing ourselves?"

He blinked, eyes darting down to her lips before he pulled back so he could properly meet her stare. "Everyday you amaze me, Clarke Griffin. I never imagined I'd like you, let alone feel this way, but I must be the luckiest man alive to have you. I never imagined this was possible... not for real anyway."

She shifted to settle next to him, leaning against his shoulder as he sat back on the grass. "So what next?"

"Nothing, everything. I have no idea." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "We still need to finish the show strong. I want to win this thing, Princess. I know it's just a stupid show, but this has been my life for the last seven years." He paused, craning his neck so he could see her face. "I haven't even told O this, but I think she suspects. This is my last season on the show."

Clarke stiffened against him. She stared back into his deep chocolate eyes, trying to figure out what he was saying. She frowned, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. "You don't want to stop dancing, do you?"

He was silent for a moment, simply staring at her with unreadable dark eyes. "No. Originally that was my plan. I was going to get my teaching credential and then start teaching history, but that's not exactly what I want anymore."

Her heart thundered in her chest, blood pounding in her ears as she waited for him to continue. He took at deep breath and stared intently at her. "I think we should start a dance company together."

Time rushed to a halt. She couldn't believe his words. His expression was guarded, as if he was sure she would reject the idea and her chest constricted at his uncertainty. "Are you serious? You would really be willing to do that for me? With me?"

"You have serious talent." He ducked his head and smiled at her though his lashes. "And I might have Googled you and your days in the Reparatory Dance Troop at Ark College. And then I might have e-mailed one of your dance professors who was more than happy to chat with me on the phone about the thesis project that you started in your junior year but dropped due to Pre-Med requirements."

Clarke stared at him, caught halfway between fury and awe. She'd known he was interested in her dancing experience, but she'd never realized that he was so interested as to dig up her past. She settled for sputtering, "No one knows about that…"

He grinned at her, realizing she wasn't going to murder him for prying into her life. "Anyway, I loved the idea of fusing the visual and performing arts. I think we could create some really powerful things together. Just think about it, okay?"

She settled back against him, staring out at the Hollywood Sign. Was he really offering her everything she ever wanted? Bellamy Blake, infamous asshole and top dancer on Dancing with the Stars, wanted her to start a dance company with him. It seemed insane, the type of thing she would dream about in middle or high school. But he wasn't Bellamy Blake, dancing superstar, to her anymore. He was just Bellamy, her closest friend and confidant. The only man that could set her blood on fire and drive her to homicidal rage in the same breath. Despite the fact that they'd only known each other for nine weeks, she felt like he'd been by her side for her entire life. The idea of a day without him was unfathomable.

She relaxed further into him, breathing in the mix of sandalwood and pine deeply as she closed her eyes. His arms moved to gather her closer until all she could feel was the pounding his heart and the caress of his warm breath across her neck. This. This was all she had ever wanted.

"I'll think about it."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: "Love comforteth like sunshine after rain" - Venus and Adonis**

Clarke stared at the setting sun out the small oval window in the plane. Next to her Bellamy was reading a volume of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, which looked more like a brick than a book. As if sensing her gaze upon him, he glanced over at her.

"Everything up to standards, Princess? I know it's not as luxurious as your private jet." Even though his words were harsh, a teasing grin tugged at his full lips. Clarke resisted throwing herself over the armrest and capturing his lips with her own. As he'd just commented, this was not a private jet and they were trying to keep their budding relationship out of the public eye. They had told Octavia, of course, but that had been more out of necessity than desire. The younger Blake had stared at them for a moment, as if judging their sincerity before nodding sharply and commenting, "glad you guys got that shit sorted out. I was beginning to think I'd need to stage an intervention."

Despite the shift in their relationship, the last week had been crammed with training. They'd put together two dances, a country themed Viennese Waltz and an Elvis Presley Jive whose styles couldn't have been further apart in nature. Where the waltz was romantic and sweeping, the jive was lively and sharp. Going back and forth between the choreographies had left Clarke feeling dizzy, as if she were switching between alternate dimensions. One minute she and Bellamy were dancing up a storm, letting their newfound joy infuse the dance. Then she turned around and suddenly the angst that had been enveloping them was brought to life as they moved to the sorrowful strains of "Just a Fool" by Christina Aguilera and Blake Shelton.

Once again Bellamy's attention to detail and uncompromising standards had carried them through, despite the exhaustion that had became their constant companion. Both dances had received four perfect 10s, so Clarke and Bellamy sat at the top of the leaderboard as they entered the finals. Only Raven, Charlotte, Lincoln and Clarke had survived the semifinals. As Octavia had predicted, Atom, despite his vast improvements, was sent home. She'd taken the loss in stride and redirected all of her attention to ensuring that Bellamy and Clarke won the Mirror Ball Trophy. Clarke was mostly grateful for Octavia's assistance, but having two intense Blakes working her to the bone was intimidating and exhausting.

After their afternoon at the observatory, Clarke had expected dramatic change to sweep through her life. To her surprise, nothing much had altered. While she and Bellamy may have been dancing around their feelings, they had already been spending most of their time together. If they chose to accept the irresistible pull between them or not, they were already close, both physically and mentally. The barriers between the two of them had been torn down long ago even if they had hesitated to accept the fact.

The lack of significant shift between them had Clarke simultaneously relieved and concerned. Business as usual in the Blake house was a blessing, but it also meant that she and Bellamy had yet to explore their relationship fully. They hadn't spoken about their feelings since the observatory and the only thing that assured Clarke that things had indeed changed were the searing kisses Bellamy bestowed on her during the brief moments they were alone. The kisses never lasted long enough and Clarke always felt as if she were emerging from a body of water, equal parts breathless and disoriented. His deep eyes would sparkle as his lips curved into a teasing grin before he would say, "Hi there, Princess," before moving off to complete some menial task like taking out the trash or helping set the table. Clarke was starting to go insane living in such close proximity to him without being able to act on her urge to tackle him to the ground and finally discover all the mysteries that were contained in Bellamy Blake.

When Bellamy had suggested that they take a few days away from LA before the finals, she'd taken it as a sign of pity from the gods. Might she finally be able to have him all to herself? With guarded eyes, he'd asked her if she wanted to go back to his home in Colorado with him. Clarke had stared at him, heart pounding before nodding vehemently. He rarely spoke about his time in Colorado, so that he wanted to share it with her meant more than she could articulate. Not only was she going to spend quality time with Bellamy, but he was also letting her into his life in a way that no one beyond Octavia had ever experienced.

So here they were, sitting in business class on a plane from LAX to Denver seven days before the first night of the finals. Bellamy wanted to mix things up. They weren't doing any of their choreography in the studio this week. They'd return on Thursday to rehearse there and keep the producers and camera crews happy, but they were going to make these dances away from the noise and plasticity of LA. Clarke knew that everything was on line this week, and she couldn't be happier to create their dances away from the show. For once, this was going to be a piece for just the two of them.

S~*~S

Sun-kissed fields rushed past as they drove north. The Rocky Mountains glowed varying shades of blue and purple in the distance, backlit by fiery orange clouds. Octavia had once mentioned something about missing "Big Sky Country." Now Clarke knew what she meant. While clouds dotted the western sky, the rest was a deep blue that reminded Clarke of a tropical ocean. If she stared directly up into the dark blue abyss she could even sense the blackness of space looming above her.

For the first time since Wells' death, she sensed the universe coming back into balance. As powerful as her relationship with Bellamy was, it was powerless against the shadow of grief that followed her. While Bellamy transported her beyond its grasp most of the time, especially in the dance studio, there was no numbing the sting of loss. The absence of Wells was with her everyday and although she'd made peace with the reality of his passing, the hole in her heart endured. Clarke continued to work on her portrait of Wells with unrelenting dedication. She had no idea if or when she would show the drawing to anyone, but she needed Wells to know she hadn't forgotten him in the whirlwind of change that had swept over her.

When she wasn't madly sketching Wells in her bedroom, she was consumed by the enticing enigma that was Bellamy Blake. His offer still hung tantalizingly just out of reach. She'd told him she was going to withdraw from Medical School, but often she awoke in terror, filled with the certainty that without Med School, she was doomed to failure. So she had phenomenal chemistry with Bellamy. How long was that really going to last? He was a dancing superstar; she was an amateur dancer with three years of college dance experience nearly half a decade ago. He might see something in her now, but what about when he realized she was never going to live up to his exacting expectations. She didn't have the ideal physique of a dancer; she curved too much to fall in the same category as Roma or Octavia. He obviously didn't mind if his heated stares were anything to go by, but being attractive to someone and being a compatible partner were two different things. They could dance well enough together in the context of a reality TV show, but that was hardly a proper audition for starting a company together. The more Clarke mulled it over, the more she was convinced that Bellamy wasn't thinking things through. He might believe his offer was serious, but Clarke knew that neither of them was remotely prepared to make such a professional leap.

Their busy schedule had precluded talking about the issue, so Clarke had been left to stew on it, convincing herself of increasingly horrible outcomes each time. The more logical, partially sane part of her brain often reminded her that she should just wait and talk it out with him, but the slightly logical and significantly less sane part wouldn't stop screaming that saying yes was tantamount to walking into a complete disaster that would leave her not only heartbroken, but entirely broke. She was already nearly $50,000 in debt from the first three years of Med School despite the scholarships; she could not afford to be unemployed right now. Groaning, she dug her hands into her hair as she tried to clear her mind and focus on the horses grazing in the fields rushing past.

"Something the matter, Princess?" Bellamy's eyes slid toward her. The intense Colorado sun illuminated his dark curls from the driver's side window, bathing him in an ethereal glow. In the golden light his eyes glowed a warm honey instead of their usual dark chocolate. She felt her fingers twitch, wanting to put pen to paper. "Princess?"

Realizing she was gaping at him, she snapped her mouth shut, ignoring the flush she knew was gathering on her cheeks. Just because it was okay to stare at him now didn't mean it was any less embarrassing when he caught her. "Erm. Sorry… just thinking."

She could feel him roll his eyes at her. "Yes, the entire car could feel you thinking. Anything you want to share?"

As his lips twitched into a smile he seemed lighter and happier than she could remember. Clarke couldn't bring herself to ruin the moment, so she shook her head. "Nothing important. Where are we going anyway? It's been almost an hour since we left the airport."

"DIA is near absolutely nothing. It takes at least half an hour to get to civilization from that place."

Clarke looked around at the horses, sheep and cows dotting the fields they were passing. "You call this civilization?"

"No," he replied as he made a right turn onto a dirt road leading toward a small farmhouse set back from the main road. "I call this home."

She stared at him with wide eyes before turning to study the approaching house. It was a small two-story building with white washed siding and red trim on the doors and windows, the exact inverse of the white on red scheme Clarke associated with rural barns. Not that she had any basis in reality for her assumptions. She'd driven past numerous farms in Upstate New York and the Hudson Valley, but Clarke had never been paying close enough attention to remember the paint colors. The memories were all blurs of hay and autumn leaves, with no real clarity except the raised voices of her parents or the soft murmur of Wells' teasing.

"You grew up here?" she questioned, staring out at the fields stretching out from the house. They had fall to disuse, but Clarke could imagine them green with hay or corn.

Bellamy parked next to the porch that stretched across the front of the house. He turned to her, his eyes bright with an emotion Clarke had never seen on his face before. "Yeah. I actually still own the house."

Clarke studied the white washed porch with new eyes. This wasn't just a piece of his past; the humble farmhouse was also part of his present. He opened his door and stepped out of the car, striding around to open Clarke's door. She accepted his offered hand as she rose from the rental car, still drinking in the idyllic scene before her. The evening breeze was warmer than she'd expected and carried the scent of lilac. Following her nose she spotted several deep purple blossoms along the side of the porch, the lilacs bursting brightly against the white wood. A rainbow of Irises dotted the small garden wrapping around the porch and fuzzy thyme had escaped the confines of the garden to dot the gravel drive. She glanced up at Bellamy. "This place is cared for… do you have a groundskeeper or something?"

He laughed and Clarke took a moment to savor the magical sound before realizing he was laughing at her. "God no. Not all of us are royalty, Princess. I usually rent it out, the last family moved out on the first of the month and I haven't been able to find a new tenant yet."

Clarke mentally kicked herself. Sometimes she forgot how different their worlds were. Bellamy could hardly afford to be paying for another property; of course he was going to be renting it out. She swallowed thickly, vowing to be more cognizant of her assumptions.

He tugged at her hand, his warm fingers caressing her wrist. "Come on. Let's see if they left anything in the fridge."

He used his free hand to turn the key in the deadbolt before swinging the red door open. The scene that greeted her was right out of Country Living; the house had dark wooden floors and was fully furnished with light oak. Flowered wallpaper lined the rooms interrupted only by large windows with wide sills and red trim. A sturdy bench sat in the entry way and a steep staircase rose off to the right while the living room stretched out to the left. Several comfortable looking armchairs with blue and white checked upholstery sat on either side of a fireplace facing a matching couch. An array of windows lined the western wall, sunlight filtering through lace curtains. The northern wall housed a fireplace with a stately mantle and several windows further into the house in the dining area. A large oak table was the centerpiece of the dining room, separated from the kitchen by white countertops and oak cabinets. The kitchen was by no means large, but the white counters were filled with cooking utensils and gadgets. It was the homiest place Clarke had ever been.

She turned to find Bellamy staring at her with warm chocolate eyes from the doorway. She grinned at him, her heart constricting with emotion. "It's amazing Bellamy."

He ducked his head, glancing shyly up at her from under his dark lashes. "I thought you'd like it. Or, I'd hoped you would. I've thought of selling it too many times to count but now I'm glad I didn't."

She traced her hand over the worn material of the couch. "Did your mother leave you the house?"

His eyes darkened and the joy faded from his expression. His teeth worried his lip as he stared at her with a dark intensity that made chills run down her spine. "My mother may have had a shit life and she may have made even worse decisions, but this house was always her gift to us. Even when she was screwing some random guy in the bedroom downstairs, I knew we were safe here. When she died, it was her only asset. I may have inherited the house, but she gave this house to us long before she died." He shook his head causing his dark curls to dance in the sunlight. "Maybe that's why I can never convince myself to sell it."

Clarke crossed the room, enveloping him with her arms, wishing she could siphon the suffering from him. After a long moment, he brought his arms up to firmly grip her, crushing her form to his. She could feel the erratic beat of his heart against her ear. "Sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to drag up the past."

"Don't be." He pulled back enough to fasten his sorrowful brown eyes on hers. "I can't escape my past any more than you can escape yours. All we can do is move forward. Try to be something better."

She raised her hand to stroke his cheek, savoring the warmth of his skin on her palm. "You are already so much, Bellamy."

He stared at her with scorching intensity. "I can be more, Clarke. I need to be more. To be better."

She wanted to argue, to tell him that he was already the most amazing person she had ever met, that he had changed her life in ways she was still discovering, but she understood his internal struggle and knew her words, while appreciated, would be useless. Instead she reached up on her toes and softly caressed his lips with her own, a ghost of a kiss that left her lips tingling and her heart racing. She resisted crashing back into him, instead whispering, "You're enough for me."

Bellamy's arms tightened around her and she surrendered to his warm embrace. She could feel his heated breath tracing her ear as he murmured, "Thank you, Clarke."

S~*~S

The evening sun danced over the amber fields as Clarke sank onto the porch steps, the sounds of Bellamy banging around the kitchen echoing out the screen door. The last twenty-four hours felt more like fantasy than reality. Between exploring Denver and just spending time with Bellamy, learning the nuances of him away from the stifling LA spotlight, she felt as if she was living in an alternate dimension. A dimension where she and Bellamy stayed on the porch steps watching the final threads of light fade into the inky night. A dimension where her worries slipped away as she surrendered to the peace of Bellamy's arm draped around her and his breath warming her cheek. A dimension where She and Bellamy could cook dinner each night and in the winter sit outside on the porch huddled under blankets and drink hot chocolate as they stared out into the winter wonderland.

The warm evening breeze caressing her skin whispered of possibilities she'd never dared to imagine. The rest of her life could be filled with these moments. The past day felt like the confluence of everything she had ever wanted. It was insane. It was powerful and terrifying. Her head was spinning and she had no way to stop it, no way to regain the balanced feeling of normal. Wells' death had tipped the scale, but now she was so far away from the Clarke of six weeks ago, let alone six months ago, that she had no idea how to navigate. She'd known how strong her connection with Bellamy was and how much dance could affect her, but feeling the change play out within her, feeling herself begin to transform in irreversible ways was unsettling.

As if to unnerve her even further Bellamy had made no mention of the dance company offer in the last week and despite her relief at his silence, his apparent disinterest had her reeling. As if that wasn't enough stress, he hadn't spoken a single word about dance since they'd arrived. Clarke didn't mind the change of pace, but the finals were looming closer than ever and Bellamy's lack of interest in any choreography was doing a number on her nerves. Usually both of their dances were outlined within the first day and they were already working on perfecting sequences by this time in the week. She trusted him, she really did, but his silence was driving her to increasingly wild conjecture. Maybe he didn't want to dance with her anymore. Maybe he'd lost all inspiration in terms of choreography. Maybe she'd already failed to live up to his expectations and he was trying to find a way to let her down easy.

Clarke sighed as she studied the horses grazing in the field across the country road, their manes glowing in the dying light. Her hands twisted in her lap as a tendril of dread worked its way down her spine. What if he had changed his mind about the dance company? And why was that possibility so upsetting to her? She wanted him to change his mind before he discovered that she wasn't the right girl for the job. She groaned, burying her head in her hands. She was doing it again.

The screen door swung open and she twisted on the stairs to look up at Bellamy. In contrast the jovial expression she expected, his brow was furrowed and his mouth was set in a hard line. Her heart raced as she rose to face him. "What is it?"

He crossed his arms over his black t-shirt, the fabric pulling tightly over his defined muscles. His eyes were blazing and contained a dark emotion Clarke couldn't identify in the evening light. "I just got off the phone with Maya…"

She resisted the urge to move towards him, settling for shifting her weight back and forth between her feet. "And?"

His handsome features contorted in disgust for a moment before he forced the words out. "Your mother and the President will be attending both nights of the finale. Apparently the producers extended the invitation yesterday and they accepted."

Clarke froze, swaying on her feet. Her mind was blank except for the bolt of panic that threatened to rip her to pieces. "What? No. That can't be happening… no, no, no. She always ruins everything. She can't ruin this… how do I fix this? Can I fix this? Please tell me I can fix this, Bell..."

Her words faded into silence his strong hands gripped her shoulders. She focused on the warmth spreading into her from his hands and tried to ignore the sensation of tumbling slowly down an infinite staircase, each step a crueler blow than the last. All she could see or hear was her mother's voice, laden with disappointment, telling her what a failure she was to both her family and her country. The moment stretched to infinity before collapsing back, leaving her face chilled by the breeze and her breath a harsh pant in the twilight. She ran a hand across her cheek, finding moisture.

"Clarke!"

Her focus snapped back to Bellamy as if a rubber band had been released. His eyes were dark with anger, but his features were more relaxed now as he pulled her closer to him. She inhaled the combination of pine and sandalwood that was Bellamy, trying to pull her pieces together with his familiar scent. He gripped her chin tightly in one hand, bringing their faces inches apart. She could see the flecks of gold in his eyes as his stare bored into her. If she hadn't been so distraught, she would have been breathless at his intensity and proximity. As it was, she merely stared back at him, her gaze despondent.

"Clarke. I am not going to let anything ruin this for you." His breath puffed across her face with each word, warming the tails of tears.

"You can't promise that. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that my mother ruins everything, whether she wants to or not."

"Well, she can't ruin this." He tilted his head to meet her forlorn stare. His eyes crackled with determination and she was reminded why she found this man irresistible. "This is between you and me and that's it. Yeah, so there will be judges scores, but who the fuck cares, Clarke? You told me that first night in the hallway that you were just here to dance. Nothing has changed since then, you're still here to dance."

She couldn't help the snort of disbelief that escaped her lips. "Are you kidding? Everything has changed."

He shook his head, dark curls bouncing across his forehead. "Not really. Things have happened, sure, but the reason why you're here hasn't changed. You still just want to dance. At the end of the day, would it be nice to finally win this fucking show? Hell yes. But as long as I get to dance with you, it really doesn't matter. I thought you felt the same way…"

"I do. It's just complicated, okay? My relationship with that woman is absurdly complicated. In my experience, she finds a way to ruin nearly everything I enjoy in life."

He brought his hands up to cup her face, rubbing his thumbs against her tearstained cheeks. The brush of his skin comforted her and she inhaled deeply, trying to slow her breathing.

"I'm going to say something now that I know you don't want to hear. I know you and your mother won't be reconciling anytime soon, but maybe you need to start thinking about how to forgive her. This anger you have, it isn't going to serve you well."

She opened her lips to object, but he placed a finger over her mouth, halting her. "Just listen for a moment. I don't expect you to agree with what I'm telling you right now, but I want you to listen. I've held on to my share of anger over the years and it has never led anywhere good. You saw how I treated you when we first met. I'm angry at the world for what happened to O and I growing up and I took that out on you. I'm angry at myself for not doing everything possible to save my mother and I doubt I'll ever be able to forgive myself for that but I'm trying. For a long time, I let that rage define me Clarke. I never let anyone in and I never stepped back to ask if the anger was really worth it.

"I'm starting to move beyond the anger from our childhood. O and I have good lives now and being angry about our past is simply keeping me there, in the past. And you, Clarke, you've helped me move on. You've shown me that my assumptions about wealth and privilege aren't always right. I've danced with my fair share of women on this show that simply built up my beliefs, but in ten weeks you've managed decimate every assumption I made about you. You've made me a better man and you've helped me start to let go of the past."

She stared at him, mouth agape. How had she forgotten his talent with words and his uncanny ability to tear apart her protective walls? She felt as if she had been bulldozed over and left to pick up the pieces. He made her feel raw and she didn't know whether to be grateful or furious. His expression was guarded as he stared back at her, as if waiting for her to explode with anger again. Instead, she released a heavy sigh. "I have no idea how not to be angry at her, Bellamy. It's part of the definition of who I am."

"Then maybe it's time to redefine you."

She turned his words over in her mind. Standing on a porch watching the last rays of sunlight fade behind the Rocky Mountains, so far away from all the places that brought her pain, she allowed herself to consider the possibility of change. For so long she'd been defined by her mother both internally and externally. Her experience with the show had helped remold the external definition, but she was still clinging to her internal definitions. Bellamy was right; if she really wanted to move forward with her life, she needed to be able to let go.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. "Then help me. Help me figure out who Clarke Griffin really is."

His expression softened as she relaxed against him, the fight draining out of her. He dipped his head to place a kiss against her cheek, branding her skin with the heat of him. "I promise I will. Come on, dinner's been cooling on the table…" She smiled up at him as he released her neck only to link their arms together while motioning with his free hand toward the door. "Shall we, Princess?"

Rolling her eyes she let him lead her into the house as the last rays of sunshine faded from the western sky. She was dizzy from the rate of change in her life, but she knew as she stared at darkly handsome man next to her that he had become her fixed point. Come what may, she was Bellamy Blake's.

S~*~S

Bellamy's arms wrapped around Clarke's waist as she scrubbed dishes, his broad chest pressing against her back as he buried his face in her hair. Dinner had been a quiet affair and although Clarke still hadn't fully regained her equilibrium after the news about her mother, she had at least been able to push it to the back of her mind.

"I wish this could be forever…"

His words were soft, as if he was speaking to himself more than to her, but they reverberated though her. She lowered the plate in her hand into the sink with a soft clink before taking a deep breath. Butterflies rioted in her stomach as she turned to face him. His dark eyes instantly locked with hers, searing her with their intensity. "Do you really mean that?"

She knew they were together now, that they had moved beyond the denial that exhausted both of them, but she couldn't help the pangs of dread that assaulted her at the most inopportune times. Not just her paranoid imaginings of the consequences of quitting medical school to start the dance company, but more primal anxieties about them, about her. In her more desperate hours, images of Bellamy and Roma haunted her. What was seven weeks compared with seven years? In moments of true insanity flashes of Raven's dark hair against his olive skin shook her to the core. Sure, his liaison with Raven had been in the early stages of the competition, before Clarke had even considered him a friend, but the knowledge still tore at her, leaving her feeling inadequate and wanting. What did Raven have that Clarke didn't in those early weeks? Was it the soft curl of her chocolate hair or the way her slim waist created the perfect hourglass figure? For certain Raven and Roma had more in common than just Bellamy's attention. They were dark goddesses on Earth and Clarke could hardly compete. Clarke was short, curvy in a way that left her stinging with quiet jealousy even when she knew how capable her body was, how well it moved to the rhythm of the music.

She hated that she still resented Bellamy's transgression with Raven, but beating down her feelings was never going to work, not when he could make or break her with a single look. As she stared back him now, so close to losing herself in his hypnotic dark eyes, she knew she had to speak, to air her doubts no matter how harebrained they might be.

"Clarke…"

She held up a hand and he paused mid sentence, eyes flashing with dark emotion. "Wait. I have something I need to ask you about. Something I just can't get out of my head… and believe me, I've tried."

"Okay?"

"Raven." Her voice was choked with emotion as she uttered the name. "Why? Why her and not me? What was wrong with me? And don't say something about Wells. We both know that became a poor excuse weeks ago." She swallowed heavily and avoided meeting his dark gaze, studying the floral pattern of the kitchen wallpaper behind his head instead.

"Because I care about you. Because Raven came to me. Because I'm stupid. And most of all because you terrify me." His voice was rough whisper in the quiet of the kitchen.

Despite their proximity, Bellamy wasn't touching her, not anymore. He was close enough that just a small shift of her weight would bring them together, but his arms hung limply at his sides and when she gathered the courage to slide her focus to his face his eyes were downcast, shadowed behind his dark lashes. She frowned, shifting her weight between her feet as she tried to process his response. She didn't know what she'd expected from him, but an admission of fear was not it.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I kept seeing Roma for seven years because it was easy, Clarke. She never expected anything in return and I never felt I needed to give her anything. It was easy, simple." He paused, tongue swiping at his lips before he continued, eyes still downcast. "I'm not proud of that, but that's who I was. Life was complicated enough supporting O and trying to keep our careers afloat. Letting anyone else in was too much for me.

"Then you came around, pushing all of my buttons, challenging me about everything I'd assumed about you. And I got confused. Hell, I probably even drove Roma off to Lexa or Finn or who knows who because I was such a moody dick those first few weeks of the show. In any case we never had a particularly monogamous relationship and it's not like I didn't sleep around on her too. And then suddenly there Raven was, nearly begging me-"

"I don't care about that." Clarke cut him off, stomach roiling against imagining him with either Roma or Raven. "Why not me. I was begging you too. I recall using please several times in fact."

"Clarke." Her name was a strangled rasp from his lips. "I didn't sleep with you because I cared. Because I couldn't imagine giving myself to you and being able to go back. With Raven, it was just sex. It's never going to be just sex with you."

She looked at him now. Boring holes though his dark lashes, willing him to meet her charged stare. "What in the world do you mean by 'go back'?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he looked up at her, his dark eyes brimming with a dark emotion that twisted her gut. "You are so much more than me, Princess. So much more. If I gave into you then, I would have been lost and I couldn't do that. Not then."

Her breath hitched as she stared into the dark intensity of his eyes. Lost? She wasn't sure exactly what he meant, but the chills running down her spine indicated the depth of the emotion behind his statement. She closed her eyes, needing a break from the searing intensity. When she opened them, he had already looked away, his gaze lingering on the kitchen window behind her.

She choked out, "What changed?"

"You. Me. I don't know." He sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. "When you told me you didn't want to go back to D.C., something in me just kind of snapped free. Despite what you may think, your mother did have a point. You and I are from different worlds and letting myself be consumed by you when I wasn't going to have a prayer of holding on to you seemed even more torturous than fighting it."

Clarke felt a flare of anger at his words, as if she would let her mother dictate her life. Maybe a year ago. Hell, maybe even six months ago. But not now and certainly never again. She stared back at Bellamy's wary expression, trying to make sense of it all. "So you slept with Raven because there was no risk to you and you didn't sleep with me because you cared?"

His gaze sharpened and he took a half step back from her, examining her with an intensity that sent chills rushing down her spine. It was as if he could see into her soul. She bit her lip and tried not to visibly tremble. "Clarke…" He broke off, shaking his head in disbelief. "You really still don't get it, do you?"

She tried to meet his gaze with equal intensity. "So tell me."

"This." He motioned between the two of them. "This is not something that happens to most people. Ever. In their entire lifetime. I know that. You are not like Roma or Raven, Clarke. You are not even in the same category of woman as them. Roma was a friend; Raven was convenient. The sex was nice. End of story. In fact there was no story there. I didn't feel anything, not compared to what I feel for you."

"What are you saying, Bellamy?"

"I'm saying I'm head over fucking heels in love with you, Clarke Griffin."

A wave of pure joy blasted through Clarke, knocking the wind out of her and turning her world upside down. Her knees knocked together as her legs collapsed beneath her. She was vaguely aware of Bellamy's strong arms holding her up, but her mind was whirling too fast to pay the feeling any attention. Bellamy fucking Blake had just told her he was in love with her in a way that allowed no room for doubt. She swayed in his arms. Could she even have imagined this outcome ten weeks ago? There was no way in hell she could have known the impact of her decision to say yes to that phone call. Somehow, she was here in this moment, in his arms, watching a life she had never imagined come into existence.

"Clarke?"

He was looking at her with a slightly panicked expression. Why would he be panicking? Oh, right. She had essentially fainted on him when he told her he loved her. Her chest seized in joy again as she remembered the words. He cleared his throat, his eyes laced with growing uncertainty. She should probably say something.

"Bellamy…"

"If you're going to let me down, don't draw it out, Princess."

She shook her head vehemently, blonde curls bouncing. "No, no, no. I'm just so overwhelmed. I had hoped. Hell I had prayed that you felt as strongly as I did, but I didn't know for certain. Hearing you say that…wow."

Bellamy's features relaxed a hair. "So you're okay with that."

"I'm more than okay with that," she replied. Her shoulders shook as she met his intense brown gaze. "I've been in love with you for a while. I've been fighting it, convincing myself you could never feel the same way. I've been trying to give you the space that you wanted, but we saw how well that turned out. Bellamy, you are already inside my soul and I know I could never love someone else with the raw intensity I love you. You undo me and I want nothing more than to surrender to you."

His eyes widened and his pupils dilated as he stared down at her. His voice was rough and deep when he spoke. "Fuck, Clarke. The things you do to me. The things you make me want to do to you…"

"So show me." She stepped boldly into his space feeling the searing heat of him against her chest. "There's nothing stopping us now, Bellamy, so fucking show me. Let go."

He let out a growl as he surged forward, his fingers tangling in her hair, tugging her face to tilt up to him. Then he was branding her as his own, his burning lips working against hers with an intensity that stole her breath and electrified her. Her fingers hummed as he coaxed his way into her mouth, his tongue devouring her as if he was a starved man and she a feast. She heard a low, indecent moan and gasped as she realized the sound was coming from her. He growled against her mouth as he slid his hands down her back, burning their way down her spinal column until he firmly grasped her hips. She barely noticed her shift in position as he lifted her onto the counter, dishes clanking.

She buried her fingers in his hair, stroking his scalp and drinking in his groans of appreciation. The full heat of him was pressed between her legs as he drove against her. Bellamy's hands had made their way back to her hair, leaving trails of fire where they scorched her back and arms during their ascent. A deliberate tug of her hair and he was scraping his teeth down the column of her neck like a vampire lusting for her blood. He bit down hard at the juncture between her neck and collarbone and Clarke let out a keening noise so debauched she could hardly believe her own lips had formed the sound. Her head lolled in his hands as her body went nearly boneless. She was breathless with desire in a way that she had never experienced. She didn't just want him; she wanted to be consumed by him. Her blood thumped through her veins in desperate expectation of his touch and her skin sizzled and crackled where it met his. His teeth against her neck felt like shocks of pure adrenaline, igniting her desire and filling her with an unquenchable need.

His lips sent endless shudders through her as he dragged them up to her ear. "I am going to destroy you, Princess. And then I'm going to remake you. Over and over again," he murmured darkly, his voice full of promise.

"Please," she whimpered, her head falling back against the wall behind her.

She felt him grin against her ear. "I like it when you beg. Come on, Princess, let's move this to a more suitable location where I won't accidently stab you with a steak knife…"

She ghosted her breath over his ear before whispering, "Maybe I'm into some pretty kinky shit, Blake."

He laughed, the sound deep and breathless, before pulling back to stare at her. His dark eyes were blown wide with desire and his lips were bruised and sinfully inviting. He held out a hand while backing away from her. She laced her fingers with his and allowed him to pull her down from the counter. Her fingers twitched against his, itching to run up his strong biceps and across the hard planes of his chest. He kept backing away from her, leading Clarke excruciatingly slowly in the direction of the stairs.

"Bellamy," she whined, her voice throaty and pleading. She sounded like one of the helpless maidens in a romance or vampire novel, desperate to be ravished.

His eyes darkened and he picked up the pace. A seductively teasing smile traced his full lips. "Alright, Princess. You'll get what you're aching for, don't worry."

Clarke nearly lost her footing as the dark promise of his words swept through her. Jesus Christ. She had been with plenty of sexual partners, she was after all a healthy young woman, but none of them had demonstrated this type of power over her. With just one look from beneath his dark lashes, Bellamy turned her upside down and sideways. She gulped. He was going to make good on his promise. She was already half destroyed as she trailed behind him to the bedroom. God and whatever other deities existed help her if she was going to make it though this night unscathed. There was no going back, she realized as she raised her foot to the first step. Once she surrendered to Bellamy there would be no other men. He was going to ruin her and she couldn't help but scurry after him, begging him to do it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: "We are such stuff as dreams are made on" - The Tempest**

Clarke awoke the next morning feeling content in a way that she'd only experienced on rare Sunday mornings during childhood. The sun filtered through the lace curtains in the eastern window, casting a warm glow across Bellamy's sleeping features. Her fingers twitched, itching to trace the constellations of his freckles, but she resisted, content to watch him. His breath came evenly though his parted lips, caressing Clarke's face where she lay beside him. The blue checked quilt was draped haphazardly over both of them, leaving tantalizing bits of exposed flesh. Her eyes traced down his defined chest and over his washboard abs, her cheeks heating at the memory of him writhing against her. She pulled her gaze back up to his face, taking the time to memorize his features. Without the intensity of his eyes swallowing her whole, she was able to fully explore the angle of his jaw, the cleft of his chin and the pout of his lips. His dark curls fell messily over his pillow, giving him a dark halo that glowed in the morning sunlight. Her chest contracted as she absorbed the enormity of his beauty. She had no right to find a man like him, so utterly devastating on both the outside and the inside.

As if sensing her scrutiny, he stirred next to her, his eyes blinking against the bright light. "I can feel you staring, Princess."

She shrugged, giving in to the urge to trace his freckles with feather light touches of her fingers. "I don't see you complaining."

He half moaned half groaned as she swept her hand up through his curls, relishing their silky feel against her fingers. He squinted up at her, his eyelashes casting shadows on his face. "What time is it?"

"No idea. I just woke up… didn't bother to look at anything but you." She nearly winced at how damn sappy she sounded, but she couldn't bring herself to take back the words. She could spend a lifetime watching him.

He rolled onto his side to look more directly at her, a satisfied grin growing on his lips. "Is that so, Princess?"

Clarke smiled brightly back, for once feeling no shame. "That's so." She flopped back against the bed, moaning in contentment. "Every morning should be as wonderful as this."

He slid his eyes toward her, as if assessing exactly what she meant. After a moment, a shit-eating grin blossomed across his features. "I'm pretty sure I can arrange that."

Clarke's skin flushed, but she refused to be embarrassed. Everything had changed. Where before the intensity of their connection had unnerved her, now it electrified her. She'd known how much power Bellamy had over her, but now she understood she wielded that same power over him. They were helpless for each other, their passion and desire running parallel and joining into a raging torrent that neither could stand against. So instead of blushing and looking away from him, she met his fiery gaze evenly and murmured, "I would like that. A lot."

He reached for her, drawing her in the warm circle of his arms and caressing her ear with his lips. "So would I." He pulled away with an intent look his eyes. "Unfortunately, the real world has come knocking today and we have meeting in…" Bellamy leaned over her to look at clock on the bedside table, his warm chest brushing tantalizingly against her. "Damn. In an hour."

Clarke groaned, trying not to pout pathetically. "That's one way to ruin the mood. What sort of meeting?"

He pulled away from her and stared at her, his eyes glowing golden in the morning light. Clarke resisted the urge to squirm as his prolonged silence began to unsettle her. Finally, just as she was sure she was going to explode from the tension, he spoke. "I arranged a meeting with a studio that's willing to host our dance company."

"What?"

They hadn't spoken about the issue since the observatory and she'd half convinced herself that he'd forgotten the conversation. She'd been wishing that he'd forgotten the conversation. Now she was faced with the unwelcome reality that Bellamy really thought they were going to do this. Her stomach roiled with dread as she stared at him. His eyes were filled with hope and expectation. "I thought it was going to be difficult, but Anna, she's the director of the studio O and I learned at, said they had just expanded their facility in the Santa Fe Arts District and that my timing couldn't have been more perfect."

She wanted to tell him no. To tell him the idea was as absurd as when he first suggested it, but she couldn't. She was unwilling to damp out the light in his eyes, the joy in his smile. When they'd talked at the observatory, everything had been abstract, but here in Colorado going to a meeting with a studio director, their plans were more terrifyingly concrete than she'd ever imagined. Her fingers clutched violently at the quilt like talons, but she managed to burry her growing panic. She forced her facial muscles into a position that she hoped was more smile than grimace.

"That's great. So where's the meeting?"

Bellamy stared at her for a beat longer than necessary, as if he sensed all was not right. She froze, hoping she looked excited rather than nauseated. His smile dimmed, but he didn't comment. "It's at the studio in Denver, so we have about twenty minutes to get out the door. I was planning to tell you last night… and at least set an alarm, but last night didn't exactly go as planned."

His grin turned lascivious now and Clarke welcomed the distraction. She crawled over to him, deliberately letting her hips sway more than necessary. His pupils dilated as she brushed her chest against his, noting the hitch in his breath as she trailed her lips up the column of his neck. Arriving at his ear, she purred, "But I liked our change of plans…"

A guttural groan escaped him as he swiftly caught her and flipped her such that he was now hovering over her. "You're cruel, Princess. You know better than to tempt a starving man."

"Starving?" she purred, letting her hands play at the nape of his neck, wanting to pull him down to her and surrender to their insatiable need for each other.

Bellamy dropped a heated kiss across her lips, leaving her gasping and wanting before pulling back and rolling off the bed. His expression was one part desire and two parts inscrutable as he stared down at her. "I know what you're doing. Come on, we have to get ready to go."

A cold shock of dread lanced through her. Of course he could sense her reservations. They had been inseparable for the last ten weeks, he could probably sense when she had to sneeze by now. She moved toward the side of the bed, not risking another glance in his direction before she padded over to her duffle bag, which sat on an old oak trunk near the door. She could feel the air move behind her and knew that Bellamy had crossed the room, but she kept to her task steadfastly, not turning as she rooted around for a decent set of clothes.

"Clarke."

His voice was strangled as if the weight of tension in the room was pressing down upon him. She continued to reach blindly into her bag, procuring a black skirt and lilac top. She turned with the clothes in hand and nearly dropped them as she took in his shattered expression. A wave of nausea swept through her. She swallowed thickly and met his lost eyes with steel blue. "I wish you'd talked to me about this."

Bellamy's jaw muscles twitched as his eyes hardened. The contrast of his cold expression and the warmth that had just been flowing from his gaze was disconcerting. She tightened her grip on the skirt and blouse. He crossed his arms across his bare chest, muscles flexing as he glared at her. "We did talk about it. Am I suddenly not good enough for you, Princess?"

The word was said with such a snarl that Clarke flinched and took a step away from him, wary of the man before her in a way she'd never been before. Her heart beat frantically, pounding in her ears. She raised her free hand in a placating gesture while shaking her head vehemently. "No, no. Bellamy, no. It's not you I'm worried isn't good enough, okay? It's me."

His icy veneer melted, leaving confusion in its wake. He took a cautious step toward to her. When she didn't flinch, he closed the distance to stand before her. His face was a wreak of emotion, hovering between doubt, regret and determination. "Clarke… I wouldn't have asked if I didn't know you were good enough."

Now she was the one standing, lost, arms clutched across her chest for protection, wishing for more armor than her underwear. "I can't believe that." At her words, anger sparked in his dark eyes. "Bellamy. You're amazing. You're a super star dancer that everyone in this country has heard of. I'm just the damn vice president's daughter. Yeah, I danced in college, but I was okay, not great. I mean look at me, Bellamy, I don't even look like a dancer. I have curves in all the wrong places and I just don't have the experience. I'm going to let you down. I know it."

He was in her space, clutching at her bare shoulders, before she finished speaking. "Do you trust me?"

Bellamy's dark eyes simmered and she let herself fall into their depths for a moment. Did she trust him? Yes. Her response was immediate and innate. She'd trusted him long before she got know him and much longer before she liked him, let alone loved him. She knew his judgment, at least when it came to all things dance, was flawless. Taking a breath, she nodded up at him. "Yes, I trust you."

"Then listen to me when I tell you, you can do this. So you aren't a stick, no one cares, not in the real dance world. We're not doing Swan Lake or some Latin Dance Competition, Clarke. We're going to be creating our own pieces, making new ways to move and interact. I don't need you to be a prima ballerina. I don't even want you to be that. I just want you. You have something special and I want to help you share that with the world. So the issue isn't whether you can do it. It's if you want to. I know you and I understand you're afraid of all the changes this will bring, but I'm not going anywhere. So I need you to decide. Do you want this?"

His shoulders were heaving as he finished speaking, his eyes sparkling with determination. She was reminded again that he could convince her to walk off a cliff with that melodious and compelling voice, but right now she just needed to think about his words. She had no idea if she really wanted to do this. One moment she was utterly convinced that this was her path and the next terror convinced her not to stray. She opened her mouth and let it fall shut. How could she explain that to Bellamy? Despite wanting this outcome more than anything else she had ever been offered, she wasn't sure at all. She was positive of only one thing, she loved him. No matter where her life went, she wanted it to be in parallel with his. Beyond that knowledge, her world was shrouded in doubt and she had no idea how to overcome her fears. She stared up at him, needing him to understand what she couldn't articulate. "I don't know."

He nodded, but his jaw remained tense, belying his calm acceptance of her words. "Okay. Do you want to go to the meeting?"

This was easier to answer. Knowing that he believed she could do this motivated her to at least see the possibility through. "Yes."

Now, at last, a small smile broke across his full lips. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but the last of the coldness had faded. He grasped her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Then that's what we'll do."

Clarke stayed frozen in place as he retreated to the closet, rummaging around within it. Her heart was still racing wildly in her chest and it felt a little bit like she was trying to breathe on top of Mt. Everest. She took steady breaths as she dug for her white lace bra to go under the lilac top. She could do this. She had already done things she'd never imagined with Bellamy by her side. This was merely another step forward in their adventure together.

S~*~S

The exterior door of the studio banged shut as Bellamy turned to look at Clarke. He bounced on the balls of his feet, the anticipation rolling off of him in waves. His dark eyes sparkled as he grinned down at her. "So?"

She bit her lip, fighting the grin threatening to spread across her lips. His enthusiasm was infectious and she couldn't help but be pulled along for the ride. "It's amazing. I can't believe they'd have an entire studio available for us full time. And offering classes, that would help fund so much!"

He grabbed her arm, spinning her around in a pirouette on the asphalt of the parking lot. Her laughter flowed freely as he pulled her back to him, dipping her low. "So does that mean you'll say yes?"

Clarke's laughter faltered as she paused, letting the merriment seep away from her. The meeting had been nothing like what she expected. Perhaps she was too used to politics and far too out of touch with the arts. Anne had been overjoyed to meet her and when the discussion had moved toward the company, she hadn't batted an eyelash at the idea that both Bellamy and Clarke would start it. If anything, she'd seemed impressed by Clarke's involvement. Where Clarke had been sure there would be disbelief, or at the very least suspicion, there was only support.

Bellamy had asked all the hard financial questions, but Clarke had taken the lead when they began discussing her ideas of fusing visual and performance art. Anne had been interested in the ideas Clarke had proposed in her thesis work and Clarke had lost track of both time and place as she discussed them. For the first time in half a decade, she felt like she belonged in the conversation, like she could contribute something worthwhile. The feeling both excited and unnerved her. On one hand, maybe this was where she was supposed to end up, but it could equally be a case of all talk, no action. She had never actually finished her thesis project, opting instead to continue on the rigorous pre-med path. Here she was billing the ideas like they were a done deal when in reality she had never even constructed or choreographed a single part. Bellamy and Anne might have faith in her, but she wasn't sure she could have faith in herself.

Despite the doubt that continued to whittle its way through her, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she was finally ready to consider taking Bellamy's offer seriously. She wasn't a hundred percent sure yet, but for the first time in days the tendrils of cold dread didn't shoot through her stomach at the thought of quitting med school and starting this new, precarious endeavor.

"It means I'm seriously thinking about saying yes."

Bellamy squeezed her hand, enveloping her fingers in his strong grip. "That's way better than I don't know."

The corners of her lips turned up in a wry smile. "I suppose it is. Thanks for setting up the meeting."

"Thanks for dealing with my freak out this morning." He sighed, running a hand through his unruly curls and gracing her with a contrite smile. "I should have known better than to think you were doubting this whole thing because of me. There are so many other pieces of this that are way more logical for you to be worried about. It's just I still can't believe I'm here with you, that you're letting me into your life like this. I keep waiting to find it's all some elaborate ruse or something..."

She stared at him, wide eyed. She shook her head, blonde tresses spilling across her shoulders. She'd never really stopped to consider how he felt in comparison to her despite the number of times he'd alluded to it in their conversations. She'd taken for granted that he was the one with the celebrity status and power in their relationship, but that wasn't entirely true. As much as she might hate the privilege that came with being Vice President Griffin's daughter, she could hardly escape it. Bellamy had told her they came from different worlds, but she hadn't really believed him. Now though, she understood. As unfathomable as it was for Bellamy Blake to fall for her, it was nearly unthinkable that the daughter of the second most powerful person in the world would fall for him, small town boy turned dancing star. The boy who had fought tooth and nail for his mother and his sister in small town Colorado was waiting for reality to catch up with him. Each time she refused his offer, she was pushing that reality back into focus, reminding him that she was something he could neither have nor ever deserve.

The revelation left her breathless. She'd been so internally focused, so worried about planning her own future, that she'd taken him for granted. He'd been there for her since the night Wells died and somehow she'd forgotten how much had changed and how much she owed the Blakes. They were her family now. Whatever strings might be holding Clarke to her old life were imaginary now. She had no excuses except for selfishness to cling to the idea of medical school as her salvation. Did it really matter if the dance company worked out or not? Not really. There was always another project, another job, but there wouldn't be another opportunity to have someone like Bellamy and his sister in her life.

"Okay."

"Okay what?" He frowned at her, clearly unsure what she was referring to.

"Yeah, I'm in. Let's do it."

The mix of joy and bewilderment on his face made her laugh. He dropped a sloppy kiss on the corner of her mouth before pulling back and staring at her. "What in the world changed so quickly?"

"I realized I was being stupid and that I was afraid of the wrong thing. That I have a bunch of insecurities that will never quite go away, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't try to move beyond them."

He gripped her shoulders tightly, tilting his head so he could fully meet her gaze. "You're sure?"

She stared into his beautiful, deep eyes and felt a certainty unlike any other. She wasn't sure the dance company was a good idea, but she was absolutely certain that this partnership with Bellamy was the right choice. It was odd to feel so secure in a decision. Clarke had spent most of her life making decisions based on the expectations of those around her. While she'd been convinced she was doing the right thing by others, those choices had never filled her with the sense of clarity she now experienced. She reached up to caress Bellamy's face, her fingers tracing over his freckles and then falling to rest on his shoulder. "I don't think I've ever been more sure of anything."

The smile that spit his face was brilliant. His eyes glowed with contentment as he pulled her to his side, burying his face in her hair. His voice was soft as he spoke, as if he wasn't aware he was speaking aloud. "Jesus, Clarke. How are you making all my dreams come true?"

She nestled closer to him, breathing in his heady scent. So this was her new normal. His arms tightened around her as if afraid the moment would melt into nothing but memory as soon as he released her. Despite the slight discomfort, she clung to him just as surely. She lost track of time listening to the rapid beat of his heart against her ear and relaxing into the soft release of breath fluttering through her hair. She wasn't exactly sure what heaven was supposed to feel like, but she hoped it would be something like this.

Eventually Bellamy loosened his grip and branded her lips with a searing kiss, tingles erupting throughout her body. He pulled away all too soon, a roguish grin upon his bruised lips. "So I think we're supposed to be choreographing something?"

She let out a snort of laughter. "I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten about that…"

He shook his head, black curls flying about in the warm May air. "I just thought we had a few other things to deal with first. And we did. So now we can choreograph in a stress free environment where it's okay if we accidently kiss and you're not on tenterhooks every time I bring up the dance company."

Clarke bit down on her bottom lip. "So you, um… you knew I was super uncomfortable the whole time, huh?"

"Are you kidding?" He shook his head chidingly at her. "I've spent the last ten, nearly eleven weeks with you. I could tell you had doubts from the minute I mentioned the idea at the observatory. I figured I'd give you some space to figure it all out… clearly that didn't exactly go to plan, but hey, it all worked out."

"So what are we choreographing this week, Mr. Blake?"

"Well, Ms. Griffin, the judges have asked us to redo the Argentine Tango, the one you did with Miller…" The teasing expression fell from Bellamy's face as he paused. "The one you did with Miller the night Wells died. Shit, I didn't even think of it like that when they assigned it to us. I just thought about kicking his ass." He tilted his head, gazing at her with intense brown eyes. "Are you okay with that?"

At the mention of the Argentine Tango Clarke had frozen in place. She reminded herself to breath as she considered Bellamy's question. Was she ready for this? The loss of Wells was still a stinging pain from head to toe, but she wasn't sure that feeling was ever going to go away. Whenever she thought of her dad, the same type of empty burning consumed her. She had very few memories of the night, mostly just her time spent at the Blake residence, and absolutely no memories of the dance she'd done with Nathan Miller. She knew they'd received high marks, but that was it. She glanced up at Bellamy; his face was contorted with a combination of anguish and regret, his eyes begging her for forgiveness.

"It's fine. It'll be like my first Argentine Tango anyway since I can't remember a thing about the one I did with Nathan." She glanced at him, wishing the pain away from his eyes. "It's not like the memory will ever stop hurting, but that's true for a lot of things, Bellamy. Not just this. Every time I drive past a 7-11 I think of Wells and his love of Coke Slurpees. 7-11 is not going to just disappear to make me feel better and neither is the Argentine Tango."

He licked his lips, studying her carefully, before nodding. "I know. I just wish I could help you lessen the pain, if only just a little bit. And here I am, stuffing up yet again, and heaping the pain back on. I know how horrible it is and yet…"

She stared at him, taking in the tension in his shoulders and the clench of his jaw. "The house is one gigantic 7-11 for you, isn't it? Why'd you bring me to it, Bellamy? Why do that if it causes you so much pain?"

"Because the Argentine Tango isn't just going away." His eyes fixed on a point above her head. "I keep telling you to work though your shit, but I keep managing to avoid dealing with mine. I guess I figured no better way to face the music than to go back to the epicenter of it all. Maybe if I can make a positive memory with you in the house, which I definitely have, then I can start remembering more of the good than the bad. I told you I'm trying to let go of the anger… well that house has a lot of anger in it."

"Okay." She captured one of his hands in her own, caressing his olive skin. "So, we're doing an Argentine Tango. What else? Aren't there supposed to be two dances these days?"

Some of the darkness left his eyes as he smiled down at her. "You really never watched the show, did you? The other dance is the biggest deal of them all… the freestyle."

"So whatever the hell we want?"

A shit-eating grin split his face, his dimples stretching his freckles into new patterns. "Exactly. You and I are going to take the freestyle and own it. A lot of the other couples go for huge productions, but we don't need any of that shit. We're going to show the world that all you really need for perfection is you, me and music."

Clarke couldn't help the smile that stretched her lips. "I can get behind that idea."

"Mm." His gaze heated as it fell to her lips for a moment. "I could too."

"Bellamy!"

"Sorry." He looked anything but apologetic, his eyes promising sinful delights. She continued to glare at him. "Right. So, I figure we do the freestyle first and then the Argentine. The tango is more a of a studio dance anyway, so we can outline it here, but we'll need to perfect it in LA. I want to keep the freestyle away from the camera until Monday night, so let's get that one perfected here."

"Sounds like a plan."

He tugged on her hand, leading her back in the direction of the rental car. "And I know just the place to do our choreography."

"Should I be worried?"

"I hope you don't mind intimate situations in public places, Princess."

She continued to glare at him as he opened the passenger side door, ushering her in. He merely grinned back at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

S~*~S

Their choreography destination was less than ten minutes away. Clarke stared out at the grassy fields of Denver's City Park with a wry grin. The park was the perfect location. There was a small lake in the distance and beyond that the Denver skyline stood out proudly against a bright blue backdrop of never ending sky. The mountains rose majestically in the distance, giving a picture perfect quality. Bellamy led her away from the lake and towards the building he had pointed out as the Museum of Nature and Science during their previous expedition to the Zoo, which was also located on the City Park grounds. As they got closer, Clarke noticed two rose gardens flanking a central patio made of glistening stone. The roses weren't quite in full bloom, that would come in June, but shades of pink, red and yellow exploded across the rows of bushes.

Clarke let out a cry of delight as she rushed forward to bury her face in their blossoms. The heady, sweet scent was like water in an oasis. She turned back to Bellamy, her smile elated. "It's fantastic! So yummy smelling…"

He walked slowly toward her, having fallen behind during her mad dash toward the roses. "I thought you might like the place. I realized we'd missed it the other day and thought, why not?"

She gave him a peck on the cheek before scurrying over to the bushes she'd yet to scent. Each one had a different, but equally elegant, perfume to it. Her nose tingled with each fragrance as she inhaled languidly. Once she'd made of full circuit of the adjoining gardens, she returned to Bellamy's side.

His eyes caressed her warmly. "Is the Princess ready to work, or shall we let her wander in the royal garden a bit longer?"

Clarke tried to resist rolling her eyes, but the urge won out. "No need to get snarky."

He ignored her and pulled out his phone from his pocket. "Let's start by listening to the song?" He pulled up 'Latch' by Sam Smith and soon the melodious lyrics were streaming out of the phone's small speakers.

Clarke stared at Bellamy, eyes widening with each successive lyric. Her heart beat like a drum in her chest. Holy shit. The song was perfect for them. Each lyric eloquently captured how she felt about both Bellamy and their nascent relationship. She had done nothing less than latch on to him. As the song drew to a close, he moved into her space, his hot breath ghosting across her face. "This." He motioned between them. "I want to make this into a dance."

Tremors of anticipation raced down her spine and her stomach exploded with butterflies. She had never done something so intimate for a public audience before. Usually she was acting during their pieces, only pulling bits and pieces of her emotions from reality, but this time he wanted to make the story their own. It was a powerful idea, but terrifying. She would be on national television bearing her soul for everyone on the sofa back home to see. For her mother to see.

Where once not so long ago the idea of her mother witnessing such a thing would have sent dread flowing through her, now she only felt slight discomfort. She didn't want her mother to be part of this new life she was building, but she could hardly keep her from it. This might be the best way to communicate her decision. Clarke had never been the best with words when it came to her mother; her intentions always seemed to be misconstrued and rejected before she had even begun to make her point. Maybe this would be better.

Bellamy cleared his throat and she startled back to reality. He was staring with the same intensity as before, but a few tendrils of anxiety had begun to work their way across his handsome features. His strong jaw held just a little too much tension in it and his eyes were beginning to narrow into dark slits. She swallowed thickly and nodded up at him. "Yes. Let's do it."

"You're sure?"

"Would you stop asking me that? I said yes and I mean it."

His features had relaxed, but she knew he still doubted her words. "I'm asking you to do something that will expose everything. That's not a small request. I'd understand if you had doubts."

"Of course I have doubts," she responded, nearly growling in frustration. "Bellamy, I'm going to have doubts about nearly everything. That doesn't mean I'm never going to do anything."

He raised a placating hand. "Okay, okay. Are you through?"

Clarke couldn't help huffing loudly at his question. A sigh followed quickly on its heels. There was really no point for her to be so upset about Bellamy questioning her willingness to put everything out there for the whole world to see. Just twenty-four hours ago, she'd still been unwilling to take his offers seriously. She let out a deep breath as she forced herself to let go. "So what exactly do you have in mind?"

"Come here." He motioned toward the lush grass at the edge of the rose garden. The intensity in his eyes brought with it the now familiar rush of heat to her core. She squirmed under his scrutiny as she followed him across the grass. They may have fully given in to their desires last night, but the effect he had on her was no less profound. Her fingers tingled in anticipation of his touch.

As soon as they were a dozen paces away from the garden, he swung back to face her. Keeping his dark eyes locked on hers, he knelt before her. "I need you to curl up into a ball on my shoulders."

Clarke's gaze dropped to the defined muscles straining against his t-shirt. The memory of tasting his skin flashed through her mind. She swallowed heavily and closed the distance between them. She wasn't sure how she was going to achieve the position he had asked for, but as soon as she was within range he swung her onto his shoulders as if she weighed nothing more than a feather. Her balance was tenuous so she locked her hands around her knees, firming up her stability. His hot breath came rapidly against her thighs and she took a moment to celebrate that she still had an affect on him.

His voice was muffled as he spoke to her, his head caged between her torso, arms and legs. "I'm going to stand up. When I do that, I want to you let go with your arms and let your upper body lower along my left leg. I'll get your legs with my arm, but it's up to you to hold on to my leg until you're safely down. You understand?"

"I think so," she said. She experienced a moment of vertigo as he surged into a standing position, but the sure grip of his left arm stabilized her. He'd taken a wide stance and it was simpler than she thought to slide down his leg until her body was fully extended. The heat of his left hand seared into her legs as he lowered her sensuously to the ground.

Then he was on top her, his straining muscles hovering above every inch of her. She forgot to breath, lost in the sensations and the sense memory they provoked. She could feel him moving against her, his dark curls plastered to his forehead with sweat and desire. She remembered the deliciously shocking feeling of his skin melding into hers, his breath becoming hers as their mouths explored each other and their heated flesh met again and again. She realized he had frozen above her, staring down with a mixture of fear and desire. She glanced up at her hands where they now rested upon his shoulders and saw them trembling against him. Her mouth was too dry to speak. Although with the bolts of raw desire running rampant down her spine, she doubted she could come up with a coherent sentence anyway.

Abruptly he broke away from her, nearly flinging himself onto the grass beside her. His voice was a smoky rasp. "Fuck."

She could only make an agreeable noise as she fought against the fog of her desire. How the hell were they supposed to get any of this choreography done if they couldn't control themselves? Clarke had been five seconds away from having her way with him in a public park. She clapped her hands over her face, hiding her scarlet cheeks from the world.

Bellamy's voice held a wry humor as he observed, "I wanted to show people the connection between us, but I'm pretty sure I was going for figuratively and not literally."

"Sorry," she murmured. She peaked out between her fingers. He had one hand running through his hair and his teeth were worrying his bottom lip. All she wanted to do was capture his swollen lips with her own. Ugh. She snapped her eyes shut. She was not a hormonal teenager anymore, so why the hell couldn't she get any control over herself.

"Not entirely your fault, Princess." She heard him sigh heavily before he continued. "We do have to get over this though… we managed to dance through all that tension before. This should be a piece of cake."

"Should be." Clarke risked another glance his direction and met the full intensity of his luminous brown eyes. Her breath hitched, but otherwise she managed to stay unaffected. "So we should probably try this all again and again until we're not trying to fuck like bunnies on stage?"

He chuckled at that. "Yeah. That would probably be a good idea. From the lift?"

Once they were both on their feet again, he hefted her into the tucked position on his shoulders. This time her decent went so smoothly that she barely realized she was upside down and heading toward the ground. When she was safely situated on her back in the grass, he lowered himself. Clarke steeled herself for his proximity and this time she managed to control her breathing and the current of electricity crackling through her limbs.

He grinned at her, his dimples tugging at his freckled cheeks. "So apparently we can keep our shit together. Now I'm going to walk forward while you hang on to my neck. It'll work better in a studio, but we should be good on the grass too." He paused and stared down at her purple blouse. She had changed into a spare pair of workout shorts in the car, but the blouse had been the only top she had with her. "Or maybe not. Do you think that will get grass stains?"

He was utterly adorable as he stared down at her. She could see him asking Octavia the same question. Of course Bellamy Blake knew what grass stains were; he had been Octavia's only functional parent.

"Don't worry about it, Bell."

His eyes warmed at the use of his nickname while he nodded his acknowledgement. He slid her backward across the grass so gently that Clarke was sure not a single blade of grass left a mark. "Now, spread your arms out to the sides. We'll worry about the counts later, I just want to get you through all the movements and lifts."

Clarke had been wondering about the lack of counts despite the fact that Bellamy clearly had the music with him. Usually the timing was the first thing they went over, but it seemed he was intent on doing the freestyle differently.

As the sun fell lower in the afternoon sky, she learned to embrace the spontaneity that Bellamy had adopted for their freestyle. They attempted all sorts of lifts; some sent her high above his head while others twisted her upside down and sideways. Throughout the variations, his arms held her steady, never wavering as she soared through the air. The absolute trust she gave to him was breathtaking and terrifying all at once. She had never allowed anyone, not even Wells, such command over her. Somehow she knew Bellamy would never hurt her. Not because of anything he had said, but because of the way he looked at her like she was the only thing around worth fighting for. She'd seen that look directed at Octavia before, but had never imagined one day that fierce protectiveness would extend to her as well.

Twisting and turning within his arms, she realized there was nothing else she would rather be doing and no one else she would rather be with. Staring at his sun kissed face, dark eyes sparkling mirth, Clarke understood what happiness was. It wasn't an achievement or victory; it was a simple moment with the man she loved, all too fleeting and all the more beautiful for its evanescence.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: "O teach me how I should forget to think" - Romeo and Juliet**

The sound of clattering pans followed by Octavia's indignant squeak had Clarke racing into the kitchen. It had been two days since they'd arrived back in LA and they'd been in full rehearsal mode from the moment the plane touched down Thursday afternoon. Saturday night dinner was the first opportunity for both Blake siblings and Clarke to sit down for a meal together.

Octavia was staring at her brother with wide eyes while several cooking pans rolled at her feet. "This better fucking not be what I think it is, big brother."

Clarke stared between the two of them. Bellamy looked more flabbergasted than worried, but Octavia was on the warpath. He slid his eyes momentarily over to Clarke before turning his attention to his seething sister. "O, I said I had good news."

Octavia narrowed her eyes at him before turning her intense gaze on Clarke. "Please tell me he didn't get you pregnant."

Clarke stared dumbly back at her. She blinked rapidly, trying to digest Octavia's words. She and Bellamy had only been intimate a handful of times in the past week and she took regular birth control pills. There was no way she was pregnant. "What are you talking about?"

"You are, aren't you?" Octavia whirled around to face her brother, stalking toward him with predatory steps. She jabbed her index finger violently into his black t-shirt clad chest. "You're smarter than that, Bell! Why the hell would you let something like this happen?"

Clarke ignored Octavia's ranting in favor of frowning at him. "What the heck did you say to her?"

He eyed the finger still poking his chest before shrugging helplessly. "I told her we had some good news to share with her."

Octavia now glanced between Clarke and Bellamy, her brow creasing with confusion. Clarke put a reassuring hand on the younger Blake's shoulder. "Bellamy. You should know better than to say that. That's like the universal phrase for we're getting married or we're pregnant." She glanced over at Octavia, giving the other girl's shoulder a squeeze. "We're doing neither."

Octavia's aggressive stance melted into a more neutral one. "So what the hell is going on?"

Clarke moved to stand beside Bellamy, her arm dropping from Octavia's shoulder to brush his hand. He gave her a small smile before meeting his sister's fierce eyes. "Clarke and I have made arrangements to start our own dance company. It'll be operational this fall."

Octavia's face was pale now, her expression uncertain. "You're leaving the show?"

"I thought you knew."

"I'd suspected you weren't happy with what you were doing, Bell, but you never fucking gave me any indication that you were just going to quit. Fucking Hell." Bellamy's gaze dropped to the floor. Heart beating erratically in her chest, Clarke grasped his hand.

"You have to tell her, Bellamy. It's doing none of us any good to keep secrets." Octavia gave Clarke a startled glance. She clearly didn't think that her brother had had anything to hide from her that Clarke would know about. Clarke resisted opening her mouth to defend Bellamy. This was between the siblings now.

"Tell me what?"

"I finished my college degree in history while on the show." He looked up at his sister tentatively through the fringe of his dark curls. "I know I should have told you, but I honestly thought I might never use it. You're right, though, I was getting unhappy doing the show and the other dance contracts we got in LA, so I was planning on quitting this season so I could finish up a teaching credential and then teach high school history."

"You have a fucking history degree." Octavia seemed to turn the words over in her head before snapping her gaze back to her brother. "Damn it, Bell. How long ago?"

"A year."

His words were barely a whisper in the quiet kitchen. "You hid this from me for a year? Bellamy! What the fuck? After all the shit we've been through together, you go and lie to me?"

His face contorted in desperate anguish, the hand gripping Clarke's an iron vice. "I didn't lie, O. I just didn't mention it… I'm sorry, okay? I understand now what a selfish choice that was."

"You arrogant asshole," Octavia thundered. Her eyes flashed steely blue and Clarke fought the urge to flee the scene. Bellamy needed her now more than ever. Bellamy's sorrowful gaze locked with his sister's for several long moments before Octavia's expression shattered, turning from rage to sorrow in an instant. "God, Bell. Was any of it real? Did you ever really love dancing or was this just for me?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Clarke heard his breathing stutter for a second. His eyes gleamed with moisture he stared into his sister's eyes. "I learned to love it."

"You make it sound like a fucking arranged marriage." Octavia surged forward now, wrapping her thin arms around him. Clarke started to retreat, but Bellamy refused to relinquish his grip on her hand, so she hovered beside them. Octavia brushed at the moisture running from her eyes as she stepped back. "I never knew, Bell. You hid it so damn well. Just like everything else. When are you going to stop sacrificing your happiness for mine, you idiot?"

"Hopefully now," he responded, voice laden with emotion. "I never really loved dancing until I danced with Clarke. She awoke something in me that I never knew existed. This stopped being a job and became a passion. I don't want to become a history teacher anymore, at least not right now. I want to dance with her and by some miracle she's actually agreed to join me on this insane adventure."

Octavia's bright blue eyes wandered to Clarke. "Is this true?"

"I can't speak to how Bellamy feels, but yeah. We talked to a studio in Denver and all the arrangements have been made for us to develop and audition dancers over the summer and then start productions and classes in the fall."

"Denver?" Octavia's eyes danced with an unidentifiable mixture of emotions as she turned back to her brother. "I thought you said you'd never go back there. Ever."

"A lot has changed, O." He rubbed his free hand through his hair. "We stayed at the house and it was okay. Better than okay, really. I thought I could never go back, but I've been working on letting go of the past. I think I'm at the point where going back doesn't feel like going backwards."

Octavia pulled him into another embrace, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she let him go. Her voice was soft as she spoke. "I'm so proud of you, big brother. I was so worried that you'd carry everything around for the rest of your life."

"She did all the heavy lifting," Bellamy responded, lifting the hand interwoven with Clarke's. "I've never been so happy to be proven wrong in my entire life."

A wry smile crossed Clarke's lips; they had certainly come a long way in ten weeks. "I can't argue with you there, but seriously, Bellamy, you did all work. I just came along for the ride."

Octavia interrupted their affectionate staring match by asking sharply, "What about Clarke? Aren't you supposed to be finishing medical school? Is it really okay to just fucking quit? Not that I'm not all for this plan, but I want to make sure you'll be alright."

Clarke nearly jumped up and down with elation as the dread that had been suffocating her made no appearance at Octavia's question. She had worried that the feeling would return once they were back in the 'real' world, but ever since her revelation in the studio parking lot, she'd been free of it.

"I'll be fine, Octavia. Med school was a bit of a pipe dream for me anyway. I wanted to do it for all the wrong reasons and I'm pretty sure I would have eventually quit or failed out." Clarke gave both Blakes' shoulders a squeeze before she bent to pick up the pots at their feet. "So how about that dinner thing?"

"Right." Octavia grinned at her, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "I believe one Bellamy Alfred Blake requested to cook this evening."

"Alfred?"

Bellamy glared daggers at his sister, ignoring Clarke's question. Octavia just laughed as she placed the cookware Clarke was gathering in its proper place. "Bell, you're going to be working with her. I'm sure it was bound to come up on some contract or something. I'm just sparing her the surprise."

"Shut up and get out. I have work to do here, ladies." Bellamy shooed them out of the kitchen.

Clarke managed to stay quiet as they made their way to the living room, but as soon as they were alone, she burst into laughter. Octavia's rich giggles followed quickly after. Clarke rounded on Octavia, using the couch to prop herself up in order to avoid collapsing. "Is it… it's really Alfred?"

She stared at Octavia, waiting for the other girl to calm down enough to speak. It wasn't that Alfred was such a bad name or anything; it was just that Clarke had never even considered that he had a middle name, let alone one straight out of the Victorian Era. She felt like she knew him so well, but with only eleven weeks together she was missing some of the critical details. Her laughter tapered off as she realized that she didn't even know his birthday or his exact age. She had no idea what his favorite flavor of ice cream was or if he liked pepperoni pizza. In terms of daily life she knew absolutely nothing about him. A feeling of isolation swept through her. She had known all those things about Wells, but he was gone.

"Hey, Clarke, you okay?"

Her vision blurred as she glanced over at Octavia who was staring at her without a hint of mirth. She tentatively reached up to touch her face, surprised to feel the wetness of tears upon her fingers. Was she really crying? Water dripped from her fingers on to her dark wash jeans as she slumped down on the couch. Apparently she was.

"Hey." Octavia was immediately at her side, her tanned arm wrapping around Clarke's shoulders. "You don't have to say anything, but we're here for you."

Clarke fought back the sudden urge to burry her face in Octavia's hair and sob. She managed to murmur a bleary, "Thanks."

Octavia's hand gently caressed her skin, sending small waves of comfort though her. "I know they say it gets easier, but I always thought that was bullshit. After mom died, a part of Bell just went away. I felt like I'd lost one and a half people. He hides it all well. Apparently even from me." Octavia paused, her hand stiffening against Clarke's shoulder. "I want to be mad at him for hiding all the pain from me, but I get why he did it. If I'd been in his position I would have done the same. I guess some part of me always knew he wasn't really happy, but I think I accepted that maybe he was never going to be. Does that make me a horrible person?"

"No," Clarke told her, shifting to face the brunette. Octavia's deep blue eyes gleamed with a sadness Clarke was all too used to seeing in her brother's gaze. She wiped the tears from her eyes and laid her hand over Octavia's. "That just makes you human. I keep feeling guilty every time I feel happy… like I'm not respecting Wells or something. But he would want me to be happy and he would be even more upset that I was feeling guilty. So then I just feel guiltier. Being with Bellamy is about the only thing that can pull me out of that cycle, no offence."

"None taken. You seem to have a singular effect on my brother. It makes sense that the same is true for you." Octavia leveled Clarke with a look that threatened to take no prisoners. "What is going on between you two now anyway?"

"Well… you heard about the dance –"

"Clarke. I'm not talking about the damn dance company."

"Right." Clarke felt the blood rush to her face. Of course Octavia was interested in the development of their relationship. She supposed it was unlikely that Bellamy had given her any of the details already. "Well, we came to an understanding about more than just our professional future."

Octavia groaned, hitting her with a throw pillow. "This is no time to play coy, Clarke! Give me the juicy details!" She paused, wrinkling her nose. "Well… actually, no. I don't want any of the juicy details. Give me the PG summary."

Clarke contemplated Octavia for a moment before allowing a small smile to fall across her lips. Fuck it. Bellamy was going to have to admit this to his sister at some point in time; she was just going to beat him to it. "So he told me he was in love with me and I said it back. Well, not immediately, which I think gave him a minor heart attack, but pretty soon after. So… yeah… kind of officially a couple now."

Clarke expected Octavia to smile back at her and perhaps offer words of congratulations. Instead the brunette stared at her wide-eyed, her mouth gaping. "He said what?"

"That he was in love with me…"

"He actually said those words."

"Yeah. What? What's wrong?" Clarke glanced nervously back at the kitchen, but Bellamy was too preoccupied stirring something on the stove to be paying their conversation any attention.

Her attention snapped back to Octavia when the younger Blake gripped her hands tightly, her shocked expression melting into one of awe. "Damn. Holy shit, Clarke. I mean I knew he liked you and that you guys were going to try and give it a go, but I had no idea he felt that way. I had no idea he was capable of admitting he felt that way." She paused, loosening her death grip on Clarke's hands. "I mean I know he feels really deeply about stuff, but ever since mom died he'd never really let anyone in, especially girls. He and Roma were together for like seven years and I don't think he ever told her he liked her, let alone anything else."

Clarke nodded in agreement. She knew that his relationship with Roma had been on and off again for years. In one corner of her mind, she still felt horribly plain in comparison to Roma, but Octavia was right. Bellamy had never progressed beyond a casual relationship with the other dancing star and yet somehow in a matter of weeks, he had fallen in love with Clarke. She had no idea what to think. She was still in some amount of shock that Bellamy really wanted her, let alone loved her, but the feelings she experienced when she was with him were so much more intense than anything else.

"I think neither of us really knew what was happening. We felt so intensely for each other even when we didn't want to. Those first few weeks we really kind of hated each other, but I think that's because we were both putting up fronts," Clarke admitted.

"You don't say." A wry smile crossed Octavia's lips. "Oh my god. I forgot about the time you walked in on him and Roma…"

Clarke sent Octavia a mock glare before buried her face in her hands. "Why did you have to remind me? Thank god I didn't actually see that much."

"So you didn't actually walk in on them having sex?"

Clarke choked, imagining how utterly petrifying that would have been. "Octavia! God no. He just had his shirt off. It wasn't like I hadn't seen him half naked during practice anyway."

Octavia narrowed her eyes at Clarke. "But that got you thinking about him, didn't it?"

Clarke's cheeks became efficient heaters. She refused to meet Octavia's amused stare. So what if seeing Bellamy in a sexual situation had done a number on her? There was no way she was admitting the extent of her infatuation to his sister. "I still hated him, Octavia. He was acting like a complete ass. He even slept with Raven during the partner swap week."

"Only because she walked in on Roma and Finn Collins. Turns out Raven and Finn had been having a thing and she wanted revenge or something. Anyway, I'm pretty sure Bellamy knows Raven used him." The amusement had left Octavia's delicate features and Clarke figured that she had already expressed her opinion to Raven on the subject.

"He didn't tell me that when I asked about it."

"Don't be dense, Clarke." Octavia sighed in apparent exasperation. "Why the hell would he admit to being used? That's like voluntarily turning in your man card or whatever the hell you want to call it. Bell may be an asshole sometimes, but he's actually pretty sensitive. You know that."

"I suppose so."

"So back to the important fact of my brother telling you he loves you." This time Octavia seemed to have gotten used to the idea. Her blue eyes nearly sparkled as she grinned at Clarke. "Was it super romantic?"

"Not really. I was being dense and he realized he needed to spell it out for me kindergarten style." Clarke smiled, remembering the look in his eyes as he insisted he was head over heels in love with her. A wave a heat washed over her skin as memories of the night that followed flowed over her closely followed by the eruption of Goosebumps across her skin at the memory of his lips ghosting across her skin. Despite the deepening their relationship, the chemistry between them had not abated in the slightest. In fact, the pull she felt toward him was stronger than ever. Even a flash of a smile or a blink of his dark lashes against his freckled cheeks had her stomach churning and her palms sweating. She shifted uncomfortably, reminding herself that she was talking to his sister and that acting like a dog in heat was probably not the best course of action.

"Damn." Her flushed appearance had clearly not escaped Octavia's notice. "I'm going to stop asking questions now because I think this is about to get NC-17 rated and this is my brother you're thinking about."

Bellamy chose that moment to appear at the back of the couch. He narrowed his dark eyes at Octavia and Clarke in turn. "NC-17? What the hell are you two talking about?"

Clarke was simultaneously horrendously turned on and mortified. She wanted nothing more than to drag Bellamy and his shapely ass down the hall to his bedroom, but the more coherent part of her brain reminded her that she was about to sit down to what essentially amounted to a family dinner. Bellamy's eyes had locked with hers and she saw his pupils beginning to dilate in response to her heated gaze. Damn it. Before they could go any further down that path, she leapt from her seat on the couch next to Octavia. She spoke as cheerily as she could, avoiding eye contact with both Blakes. "So is dinner ready, Bellamy?"

He shook his head, curls bouncing listlessly, as if trying to clear his head. He raised his right hand and raked it through his hair as he spoke. "Wha… oh… huh… yeah. Dinner's ready."

Octavia leveled a glare at both of them as she headed toward the kitchen. "You two are disgusting. I don't want to accidently overhear anything later tonight. Is that clear?"

Bellamy stared after his sister with a sheepish expression. "So we clearly still need to work on that."

"Are you complaining about our sexual chemistry, Mr. Blake?" Clarke purred as she passed him.

He choked as he stared at her with wide brown eyes and flushed cheeks. A short round of coughing followed before he caught up to her at the kitchen door. She could feel the heat of him at her back, but he didn't touch her. Instead he leaned forward until his breath was hot against her ear. "If you play with fire, Ms. Griffin, you're going to get burned."

She let her head fall back to rest against his chest. His rapid heartbeat thundered in her ear. She tilted her head such that her lips brushed his neck, just below his ear. "I'm counting on it."

His groan was low and hungry. "Damn it, Princess."

Clarke sent him what she hoped was a lascivious wink before flouncing over to where Octavia was spooning the curry Bellamy had made into bowls. She had never considered herself to be much of a sexy woman and had never even contemplated teasing any of her previous partners, but Bellamy brought out a reckless side of her that she couldn't seem to tame. She'd found a confidence in the face of his overwhelming desire that inspired her to do things she would never have dreamt of before. While the experience was out of character for her, she had to admit she liked the power that came with it. He was under her control as much as she was under his and if she felt freer with her sexuality because of it, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

She glanced over her shoulder, her breath hiccupping as she met his dark eyes. In just a glance, he promised to undo her and she couldn't help but shiver in anticipation. Holding her eyes captive, he ran his tongue slowly over his full lips. She nearly gasped aloud and quickly swung around to face Octavia.

"You okay there, Clarke?" Octavia had a neutral expression on her face that gave no hint of whether or not she knew what had passed between Clarke and her brother.

Clarke nodded, clearing her throat. "Um, yeah, sorry. I just have a bit of a headache coming on."

"You need any Advil or something? I keep some in my bathroom cabinet."

Clarke nodded thankfully. She might not have a headache, but she could do with splashing some cold water on her flushed face. Hell, a cold shower sounded like a good option if it wasn't dinnertime. "Yeah, I'll go get that."

She was out of the kitchen in a heartbeat, nearly running down the hall to the bathroom. They'd been incredibly busy since they'd returned from Colorado and she had forgotten just how strong an effect Bellamy could have on her when he tried. She narrowly avoided slamming the door before she jerked the taps into an open position and splashed the chilled water over her face. Even after she was done rinsing her face, she stayed leaning over the counter, searching for her equilibrium. A creak sounded near her, but she paid it no mind. The house was old and nearly every step you took in it sounded like ghosts taking tap dance lessons.

She screamed as an arm wrapped around her waist, strong fingers pushing under her shirt to splay across her skin. The sound was muffled instantly as another warm hand covered her mouth. "Shh. You don't want Octavia to hear you."

His voice was husky against her ear. Satisfied that she wasn't going to scream again, he dropped both hands to work on the fastening of her jeans. She stared at him wide eyed in the mirror, panting at the sight of him pressing her against the counter. He grinned at her through their reflections, the look in his dark eyes sending lightening bolts of need through her.

S~*~S

Clarke reached out blindly for her clothes, fingers brushing numbly against the material. She felt like she'd been transported to some alternate universe where every sense was simultaneously heightened and dulled. She swayed as she pushed to her feet, nearly tripping as she pulled her underwear back on and clasped her bra. She glanced toward the mirror and caught Bellamy's dark eyes staring back at her. His pupils were still dilated, but his expression resembled that of a shell shock victim. His full lips were parted and his palms were flattened against the bathroom wall.

She swayed again and he startled into action, reaching a hand out to grasp her arm, steadying her. She knelt down to pick up her jeans and his hand slipped away from her. He looked almost pained as he broke their staring contest, muttering, "Jesus Christ."

"Bell? How is Clarke? Should I put the bowls in the oven?"

Octavia's voice shook Clarke sharply back to reality. She grabbed her tank top and yanked it over her head before bending over the taps, splashing chilled water over her face for the second time in the past ten minutes.

Bellamy's deep voice called out from behind her. "Yeah. She's fine. We'll be there in a second."

"You better not be getting up to anything in my bathroom," Octavia's voice called back. Clarke glanced sharply at the hand towel hanging next to Bellamy. It was pink. This wasn't even Bellamy's bathroom; it was his sister's.

Bellamy stood against the wall, still as a statue. His eyes were pressed closed and his strong jaw was clenched, muscles jumping with tension. Clarke took the chance to study him. His dark hair was even more disheveled than usual, likely her work, and his olive skin held a dark flush. His chest rose and fell a little too quickly. As she watched, his fingers curled into fist against the wall, as if he was fighting back a wave of frustration or anger.

"I'm so sorry."

He didn't open his eyes or move. Clarke took a step toward him, turning to face him instead of the mirror. "I don't think you have anything to apologize for. That was just really intense."

"You drive me crazy and I just couldn't stop," he whispered, anguish coating his tone.

"Bellamy. Look at me." His dark lashes slowly lifted to reveal luminous dark eyes. "You didn't do anything I didn't agree to. I will admit the last five minutes were completely out of character for me, but that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it."

"I should have more control than to assault you in my sister's bathroom," he insisted.

"I'm not exactly going to argue that point, but I'm not going to let you apologize either." She paused, raising her hands to cup his face. "I love you, Bellamy. I have never felt this intensely about anyone or anything and sometimes I think we both get caught up in all that intensity. We need to forgive ourselves when we get carried away." His eyes conveyed his doubt. She leaned forward to kiss his freckled cheek. "I'm not going to run away just because you get a little intense sometimes. You make me feel things I never imagined I could. I'm not going to ever give that up. I can't give you up, Bell. Not anymore. It's too late to turn back for me."

Some of the tension fell away from him at her words. He sighed, pulling her into a tight hug. "Thank you. I'm not giving you up either." He pressed a warm kiss to her hair before pulling away with a small smile gracing his lips. "So you enjoyed that?"

"Yes, you idiot." She stepped back, pulling at her tank top and checking her reflection. She looked a little too flushed, but otherwise there was no sign that Bellamy had just spun her world upside down yet again. She leaned back against the sink, trying her best to glare at him. "Next time I'd prefer better timing and not your sister's bathroom."

He chuckled. "At least it wasn't Octavia's bedroom."

She whacked his arm. "Don't be gross."

"BELL! What the hell are the two of you doing?"

"We're just-"

Octavia crashed through the door. Clarke stared at the door handle in horror. They hadn't even bothered the lock the door. She caught sight of a similar look of discomfort settling over Bellamy's features. Octavia glared at Bellamy. "What the hell, Bell? It's been like ten minutes. How long does it take to help Clarke find the Advil?"

He stared at the wall above Octavia head. His fingers clenched absently into the pink hand towel. "We just got to talking, sorry. I didn't realize it had been so long, O."

Octavia turned a questioning look on Clarke. "Bellamy's right, Octavia. We just got to talking. I'm so sorry."

The brunette crossed her arms as she leaned against the doorframe. Despite her petite size, Clarke couldn't help but feel like Octavia could destroy her with single glance. "So you two didn't just have sex in my bathroom."

Clarke's gaze snapped instinctively to meet Bellamy's in the mirror. They both looked horribly guilty. She had no idea what to say, so she kept her mouth shut praying that Bellamy could find a way to make the situation less mortifying. A cleared throat and a few mumbled syllables later she knew there was no hope on that front.

Staring between them Octavia looked equal parts disgusted, furious and exasperated. "Wonderful. I'm going to have Lysol this whole room. I'd been pleasantly surprised at the lack of such activity after you two got back from Colorado, but now I realize that was only because you two were the walking dead. If we're all going to be living here, there are going to be ground rules."

Clarke managed to find her voice. "Yeah. That's reasonable."

"Keep everything in the guest bedroom or Bell's room and I don't want to hear a damn thing."

"That's fair," Clarke agreed. Bellamy appeared to still be too mortified to respond.

Octavia nodded sharply. "Good. Now let's go eat, yeah?"

Clarke paused, watching Octavia retreat down the hallway. "Well that went better than I thought it might. Come on." She grabbed Bellamy's tanned arm and dragged him out of the bathroom.

He was silent most of the way to the dining room. In the doorway he paused and turned to her, his eyes glinting with humor. "I think we're going to have to find a place of our own pretty soon."

Clarke rolled her eyes at him before pushing him into the dining room ahead of her. She slumped into her seat as Octavia set the bowls on the table. She glanced over at Bellamy, who was sheepishly apologizing to his sister in hushed tones, and sighed in contentment.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: "But passion lends them power" - Romeo and Juliet**

"What are you thinking about the final? Do you feel like you and Bellamy are prepared?"

Clarke stared into the dark camera lens before glancing further back to meet Wick's earnest stare. She hated the preshow interviews and this was no exception. Before her feelings had been too conflicted for the interviews to do anything but stir up unwanted emotion, now she was hiding a myriad of secrets from the camera. They'd agreed not to go public with their relationship during the finale, so she was left treading on eggshells as she discussed their training.

"I think we did as much as we could. Bellamy is really passionate about the choreography and he always pushes me to my limits, so I hope we'll impress everyone."

Wick gave an encouraging nod. Clarke had no idea how much he'd figured out about the evolution of her relationship with Bellamy, but he'd have to be blind not to have noticed some difference from behind the lens over the past 11 weeks.

"So, you took a trip this week with Bellamy, which is why we don't have so much rehearsal footage. Can you comment on the nature of your trip?" His eyes sparkled with quiet humor as the words fell from his mouth. So he knew. Clarke swallowed thickly, trying to maintain her smile and not react to the panic buzzing in her ears.

"We wanted to get away," she began, gaining confidence as she spoke. The personal nature of their trip wasn't anyone's business, but they'd done plenty of choreography and she could speak to that. "We both find the studio here to be a little stifling, especially when we're trying to be innovative. We took a trip so we could choreograph both pieces for this week away from the spotlight and try some new things. I hope everyone will enjoy since I think we've really pushed our boundaries."

"We don't have any footage of your freestyle dance. Can you at least give us a hint of what we'll see?"

She shook her head, lips curving into a genuine smile. "No, sorry but I can't. Bellamy and I want to surprise everyone."

Wick's eyes narrowed, but he let her refusal slide. "So you and Bellamy have gotten a lot of attention from our viewers and the judges because of your extraordinary chemistry on the dance floor. Can you speak a little bit about that?"

Clarke's fingertips tingled as the adrenaline shot through her. She should have known this question was coming. Each week, the producers gave Wick a set of questions that just skirted the issue and now, in the final week, they'd gone for blood. Fine. She could talk about their chemistry on the dance floor. It had nothing to do with the way she got Goosebumps every time his breath ghosted over her skin or the way her legs turned to jelly each time his heated stare consumed her. Ugh. She shifted subtly in the armchair, fighting against the onslaught of damning images racing through her mind.

"Clarke?"

She cleared her throat, not caring if it was awkward or not. She needed to redirect this mental train before it was too late and she turned bright red on camera while salivating over that wonderful thing Bellamy did with his tongue. She clenched a hand into a first, digging her nails into the soft flesh. The sting was just enough to pull her back to the present. "Right. So we just work really well together on the dance floor. I've always loved dancing and Bellamy has really helped me come out of my shell and become the type of dancer I only dreamed of becoming."

"So you've danced before?" Clarke could have kissed Wick. Thank god she had to think about Ark College and the dance troop and the dance thesis project and really anything but Bellamy's hands on her body.

She concentrated on her time in the reparatory dance troop, pulling back the memories of late nights in the studio and matinees at the downtown theatre. "Yes, I danced while in college. I tried ballet as a kid, but didn't get very very far. My mother didn't view the arts as a viable life path. Anyway, in college I danced with ARDT for a few years before I had to quit because Medical school applications were too intensive for me to do both…"

There was a long pause as Wick seemed to weigh his options. Finally, he let out a long-suffering sigh. "So the producers want me to ask you this question, but I don't really agree."

"Okay?"

"How about this. I'll ask it and you can tell me to move on if it's too uncomfortable?"

Dread churned in Clarke's stomach as she stared into Wick's compassionate eyes. Wells. It had to be Wells. He'd had no scruples asking her about Bellamy, so this must be something bigger and the only thing bigger was Wells. Was she ready to talk about it with the entire country watching? She couldn't say for certain. He was her own personal poltergeist, hovering just at the edge of her consciousness. She still dialed his number out of habit, only to be met with a 'this number is no longer in service' message. She still listened to his voicemails, relishing the rich tone of his voice washing over her. Just the thought of him no longer doubled her over with grief, but the dull ache was no better. She was moving on with life and more than his loss, the fact that he wasn't moving on with her was a constant torment.

She took a deep shuddering breath, feeling the air vibrate through her lungs. She could do this. She owed it to Wells to keep his memory alive and vibrant.

"I'll answer the question."

Surprised colored Wick's expression, but he made no comment, merely nodding. "Okay. We understand that you were very close to Wells Jaha, in fact the President, his father, is coming with your mother to the finale. How has his loss influenced your time on the show and what thoughts would you like to share about him?"

Clarke's teeth worried her lip for a moment. "How hasn't his loss influenced me? Wells was my best friend and I feel him with me every day. He was so excited that I was doing the show, probably more excited than I was. So I think it's a tragedy that he can't be here to see me dance in the finale. I would have really loved that and so would he."

"Did you consider quitting the show when you found out about Wells?"

"For a moment, but only a moment." Clarke hardly remembered that awful night, but she knew that not dancing had never been in her stars. "But I knew he'd be more upset if I gave up something that was making me happy."

"Do you have anything else you want to share about your friend?" Clarke could tell this wasn't a scripted question since Wick looked genuinely curious and the pad of paper he'd been reading was discarded on the table beside him.

"Wells was one of the most beautiful people I've ever known. He was so selfless and so kind and I've spent nearly every day trying to be more like him." She paused, anger soaking through her as she remembered the needless way in which he'd been torn from her. "That he died in such a horrible and random way reminds each of us how unpredictable life can be. Appreciate what you have while you can and never hesitate to tell someone you love them."

There was a long moment where all Wick did was stare back at her, his throat working silently. "That's beautiful, Clarke."

"It's true. If I've learned anything through this experience, it's to just feel things. The only thing we really have is each other, so there's no point in building up impenetrable walls."

"Thank you, Clarke. I wish you good luck in the finale tonight."

She nodded, not trusting her voice now that her vision was blurring. She needed to get out of here before the tears started exploding from her eyes. The first half of the finale was tonight and she couldn't deal with this maelstrom of emotion right now. Later, after this was all over, then she could grieve properly, but in this moment she needed to keep it together, for herself, for Bellamy and even for Wells. Clarke swallowed thickly, zeroing in on Wick with clinical focus. She could do this.

S~*~S

Clarke shifted nervously on the balls of her feet, trying to feel her toes in the tan spike heels. Nathan and Raven were at center stage performing their Viennese Waltz. Raven was radiant in a pale blue dress that swirled with each turn, her hair done up in a fancy chignon.

"You're going to be fine," Bellamy reassured as he dropped a kiss to her bare shoulder.

She glanced down at her vibrant red pantsuit. The intricate bodice interlaced red sateen and jeweled nude mesh before meeting the loose pant legs that swirled like a gown around her. She felt horribly exposed, but she supposed skimpy costumes were just something she was going to have to get used to if dance was going to be a major part of her future. Bellamy dropped another kiss on her neck causing small tremor to run down her spine.

"I really wish I could kiss you right now," she murmured.

"What's stopping you? Your mother?" He squinted out at the ballroom in the direction of the front row seats that housed her mother and the President.

Clarke frowned in the direction of her mother. She did feel out of sorts knowing that Abigail was going to be watching, but she'd made peace with that feeling. "No. My makeup. I'd paint you bright red."

His gaze rested on her lips. "Don't they make that stuff smudge resistant these days?"

"I don't particularly want to risk it."

He nodded, draping his arm across her shoulders. "Come on. We're up next."

They stood together, arms wrapped about each other, waiting for the scores and commercial break before their video package and dance. At one point Clarke thought her mother motioned her to come and chat during the commercial break, but she refused to meet her mother's searching stare. She hardly listened to their video package. It had a limited amount of their training footage anyway and she didn't want to relive her emotionally charged interview.

Bellamy squeezed her hand as he went to sit in the chair they were using. He dropped his head to whisper in her ear, "We got this. Don't worry. I love you."

She smiled at him before settling against the lamppost prop. The strains of "Montserrat" by Bajofondo reverberated through the ballroom and Clarke moved sensuously toward the table, climbing the chair and lifting her pant leg in teasing enticement before falling into Bellamy's lap. His strong arms caught her and finally they were moving together. His fingers trailed fire down her body, caressing the sateen and mesh, as she fully extend her right leg, lingering in the pose for a tantalizing beat before cartwheeling backwards to her feet.

His twirled her back into him, his hands greedily running along her sides, electrifying her nerves and leaving her breathless. Clarke was thankful for the break in the sensual choreography as she pushed his arms away from her. As much as she relished the feel of him against her, of his hands playing her like a delicate instrument, there was no way she would last through the performance. The combination of adrenaline and overpowering desire had her head swimming already. She had never been more thankful for muscle memory as they began to move in Tango steps across the floor.

She caught his dark gaze as they moved together in staccato unison, her breath hitching at the blinding intensity she found. He looked like he wanted to devour her, as if she was some exotic fruit that left his mouth watering. Before she could fully recover she was lunging, catching his captivating eyes from beneath her lashes as she gazed up at him. His lips twisted into a satisfied smirk that spoke of hushed moans and dark bliss as she crouched before him. Clarke swallowed, her mouth instantly dry, as she tried to ignore the hunger raging through her. This was just a dance, granted an extraordinarily sensual Argentine Tango, but just a dance nevertheless. She could not be drooling over Bellamy when they still had a job to do.

Steeling herself against the heat of him she waited for the telltale tug of her hand that initiated her catapult backwards into his embrace, her back connecting with his hard chest as her ankles locked around his slim hips. Too soon, they were separated again, her leg and his arm extending in unison as Bellamy lowered her gently to the ground.

Clarke grinned up at him, eyes smoldering, as they moved across the floor again. The Tango rhythm drove them together, pulling desire from every pore and amplifying it, making it nearly impossible to resist the urge to crash into each other. Clarke was thankful for the quickness of the steps and the sharpness of the poses. A more lingering dance like the Rhumba would have left no obstacle between them, but the Tango hovered on the edge, filling her with unquenchable desire but requiring too intricate a choreography to falter or linger. Her breath was coming in heaves by the time they reached their most intricate acrobatic element, a soaring twist that resembled the death defying throw jumps of pairs skaters more than a traditional ballroom lift. Clarke gasped in rhapsody as she flew through the air, the seconds stretching out before her as she surrendered to the total freedom of the moment. All too soon she was grounded again, caught in the driving passion of the Tango as they moved together again, feet treading complicated staccato patterns around each other while eyes entangled in sinful delight.

As Clarke spun in exhilarating circles, her hip resting securing against Bellamy's and her feet far from the ground, she let out an elated sigh. She was chasing this. This freedom, this rapture, this moment where all that existed was the hypnotic Tango beat, the heat of Bellamy beside her and the freedom of the dance. Her skin tingled and her heart thundered in her chest, leaving her craving more as her toes dragged across the ground and the closing beat of the music neared. Bellamy righted her as they neared the table and chair, his hand lingering on her bare back for an infinite moment before they returned to their initial positions as the last notes echoed into silence in the ballroom.

For a moment all Clarke could do was stare into Bellamy's dark eyes, drinking in his exhilaration. Holding her gaze, he slowly rose from his chair, extending a hand to her. A large grin split his face and he pulled her to him. His warm breath tickled her ear as he whispered, "That was fantastic, Princess."

She squeezed his hand and followed him toward the judging panel. As they crossed the floor she almost tripped as she caught her mother's eyes. The steady pressure of Bellamy's grip kept her moving forward, but Clarke was left reeling in the wake of the exchange. Her mother had a smile on her face and was applauding like the rest of the audience, but Clarke had seen the anger in her eyes. Clarke fought to keep the confusion from showing as she stopped in front of the judging panel. She was used to cold indifference coming from her mother, but the fury in her eyes had been red hot. She sidled closer to Bellamy, trying to put the moment behind her.

Tom Burgeron stepped forward, giving them warm smile. "What a wonderful performance guys. Let's see what our judges had to say. Carrie Ann, why don't you start?"

"Wow." Carrie Ann paused, simply staring at Clarke and Bellamy for a moment. "I mean the last time you performed the Argentine Tango was with Nathan and it was fantastic. This time though, the chemistry you have with Bellamy is so intense that I didn't even want to blink. Great job."

"And how about you, Bruno?"

"Absolutely sensuous… a night club vignette filled with erotic energy just waiting to explode." Bruno waited for the audience to quiet before continuing. "But seriously, Bellamy, the choreography over the past few weeks has been phenomenal. I feel like you're telling us a story and I don't want to miss a second of it. I can't wait for your freestyle later tonight."

"Sounding good, guys," Tom commented. "And finally, Len?"

"Very nicely done. It contained all the elements I like to see in an Argentine while also bringing something really unique to floor. I really appreciate what you've done with the choreography and it is a real pleasure to watch you two dance together."

Bellamy's fingers clenched against her shoulder. She knew praise like that from Len was hard to come by. A glance out of the corner of her eye at Bellamy confirmed her suspicion that he was nearly bursting with excitement. He had been at this point in the show before, but the elements had never come together for him. Her brief conversations with Erin Andrews backstage had confirmed that their run for the Mirror Ball Trophy had ended in tears and harsh words. At the time Erin's stories had only confirmed Clarke's belief that Bellamy was a selfish asshole, but now she saw the incidents in a new light. Each time he failed, he must have felt like he wasn't doing enough. Knowing Bellamy as she did now, she knew he would rather lash out than let others in. So when his partners weren't able to connect with him, he'd simply turned a cold shoulder. And behind all of that he'd been miserable dancing, hating having to put himself out there for the show. Clarke was fairly certain that the Bellamy Blake who had danced with previous partners was a mere shadow of the man she stood next to today.

"Clarke?"

Bellamy was staring at her with an amused expression on his face as Erin Andrews held the mike in front of her. She glared at him and turned to Erin. "Sorry, could you repeat that?"

"I was just asking how your partnership with Bellamy has evolved over the past eleven weeks. It really looks like you guys have come a long way since those first few weeks."

She pulled Bellamy closer to her, placing a reckless kiss on his cheek. She hardly cared what the rest of America thought of them now. "We've been through a lot together. It's been a really tough ten weeks for me and Bellamy has been with me each step of the way for the good, the bad and the ugly. I don't know what I'd do without him."

He grinned down at her before returning the favor and dropping a kiss on her jaw. Erin's eyes flashed knowingly between them, but she surprisingly neglected to comment. "Alright, let's get your scores."

Three tens later and they were rushing backstage to change into their freestyle costumes. As they passed one of the many dark nooks in the backstage corridor, Bellamy pulled her aside. Her back met cold, rough concrete, which contrasted starkly with the press of his burning chest against her. His mouth captured hers before she had a chance to process their sudden detour. She instinctually melted into him, a deep moan escaping her throat. His hands dug into her hips as he coaxed her toward total surrender.

Just as she was absolutely certain she was going to have to tear off all of his clothes in the darkened hallway, he pulled away. His swollen lips were partially stained with her dark red lipstick and she could tell his cheeks were flushed even in the dim light of the alcove. She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting him.

"My lipstick is not non-smudge."

He laughed, the sound rich and booming in the empty corridor. "That's what you choose to comment on, Princess?"

She shoved him unceremoniously away from her. If he was upset at her roughness, it didn't show. He continued to smirk down at her. "Come on, Bell. We have a whole costume change plus makeup to get through. I'm pretty sure Peggy in makeup is going to be pissed at both of us. Is there any place we can wash up before we go back there?"

"What? Are you ashamed of me, Princess?"

"No, but I really don't need the entire world to know we have the self control of randy teenagers, do you?"

He laughed, the sound pure and musical to her ears. "I really couldn't care less what people think right now. Anyway, We have to get back to hair and makeup to change into our freestyle costumes soon. Peggy has to redo all of my makeup and somehow make my hair come magically ungelled. She's really not going to mind if our current make up is smudged, Princess, since she has to redo it anyway."

Clarke resisted the urge to huff at him. He had a point, they had to change their entire look and Peggy probably wasn't going to give a damn what had happened to their makeup once they were off camera. "Okay. I'll meet you in the practice studio after we're remade?"

"Sounds good," he replied, dropping a kiss to her cheek. They moved together toward the dressing rooms and he gave her hand one last squeeze as they parted ways at the entrance to the guest dressing room. She smiled back at him, drinking in his sharp cheekbones and full lips before the image was torn away from her as Bellamy continued on to the Pros' preparation area.

Raven was stretching in the corner of the dressing room, her unbound dark hair spilling over her face, when Clarke entered. She was clad in skintight red leather that covered only the most vital areas. The rest of her costume was either open skin or black mesh bejeweled with tiny sparkling crystals. It looked as if the night sky had been painted on her skin and then doused with blood. The whole effect was a strange combination of erotic and eerie. Clarke had seen their sexually charged freestyle to "Dangerous" by Big Data in the dress rehearsal. It was a full blown production with backup dancers propelling Raven into bizarre and impossible looking lifts between erotically charged dance segments featuring only Nathan and Raven. Clarke had felt a little dirty watching them, but she knew it was all for show. She'd walked in on Raven and Finn the other day during finale production rehearsals and assumed they'd worked out their differences after the Roma incident Octavia had told her about. She wanted to believe that she and Bellamy had nothing to worry about from Nathan and Raven, but she knew better than to get overconfident. Just because the connection she shared with Bellamy was the truest thing in her life didn't mean an audience would see it the same way.

Charlotte flounced in as Clarke started to peel off her red Tango costume. Despite never having sat down to talk with Charlotte, Clarke couldn't help but like the young figure skater. She had boundless energy and her dancing was perfection. More than once Clarke had fought down the icy tentacles of jealousy as she watched Charlotte move with a grace only a practiced performer could have. Nyko and Charlotte's freestyle was more like Bellamy and Clarke's in the sense that it was simple and lacked the theatricality of Nathan and Raven's. They had taken "Let it Go" from Frozen and made it into a beautiful study of movement. Charlotte was still young, only sixteen, so Nyko had focused their dance on the pure beauty of Charlotte's movements instead of infusing it with more deep emotional qualities. Clarke thought the choice worked well, showcasing Charlotte as a dancer, but not pushing her into a maturity she had yet to achieve.

Charlotte smiled sweetly at Clarke as she took a seat beside her. "You and Bellamy were really good in the Tango."

"Thanks." Clarke smiled back at her, warmth flooding her at Charlotte's honest expression.

"You two are so damn sexy together. It should be illegal," Raven commented from behind them. Clarke swung around to look at her, eyes narrowing. She still wasn't sure what to think about Raven. While she liked her most of the time, the knowledge that she'd slept with Bellamy haunted Clarke. Even if it hadn't meant anything, Raven had still experienced part of him that Clarke had no interest in sharing.

"Thank you… I think?" She managed to reply.

Raven shrugged and sent her a wry smile. "I'm just calling it like I see it, Griffin. You two could melt a whole damn ice rink, isn't that right, Char?"

Charlotte only appeared mildly surprised that Raven was addressing her. Clarke figured they must have spent time together. It was an odd combination, Raven's in your face attitude and Charlotte's sweet naiveté, but Clarke could see it working. "You two look very good together. And your emotional connection is very sincere. I wish I could act that well."

"They aren't acting, kid." Raven pointed out as she rolled her eyes. "They are 100% over the moon for each other. Isn't that right, Clarke?"

Clarke was torn between maintaining her privacy and finally admitting in public that she and Bellamy were a serious item. On one hand, allowing their relationship out into the public sphere would significantly reduce the pressure they were under. On the other, she had no desire for her personal life to be splattered over tabloids and gossip websites. She knew neither Raven or Charlotte would go running to the media, but the more people who knew, the more danger there was of someone talking when they shouldn't.

Raven crossed the room to stand directly in front of Clarke and folded her arms over her leather-clad chest. Raven was intimidating on a normal day in street clothes, dominatrix Raven was almost too much to handle. "Clarke, I know, okay? No one is going to say anything, but you can at least own up to the truth. You and Bellamy went to Denver together and came back practically engaged."

"We're not engaged," Clarke protested.

"But you are together?" Charlotte's quiet voice cut in.

Swallowing, Clarke looked between deep brown and sky blue stares before nodding. "Yeah. We're officially together."

"I told you to bag that shit. He's as good as I said he was, isn't he?" Raven's question made Clarke's temper flame, but she reminded herself that the brunette meant no harm by it. Raven was just alarmingly straightforward sometimes. She glanced over at Charlotte, the teenager's jaw was dropped and she looked like she was trying to visualize something just beyond the reach of her imagination. Good. Clarke didn't need her thinking about Bellamy Blake's skills in the bedroom in scandalous detail.

Clarke gave Raven a pointed glare as she motioned subtly toward Charlotte with her chin. Raven stared at her blankly for a moment before rolling her eyes and letting the subject drop. She grinned at them both as she moved toward the doorway. "I'll see you on the dance floor, ladies. May the best woman win. Or gentleman. Can't forget Lincoln."

"She's so weird." Charlotte commented as soon as the dressing room door banged closed. "I like her, but she's super confusing sometimes."

Clarke let out a small laugh. "I know what you mean. You need any help changing?"

"Nah, I'm okay. They pretty much put me in a skating dress this time, so for once I know what's going on." Charlotte indicated her pale blue dress. Like Clarke's freestyle costume it was simple and consisted of only a spaghetti strap leotard with an attached chiffon skirt. Charlotte's skirt was slightly longer than Clarke's, falling to just above her knee, and the rest of the dress was covered in a smattering of crystals. The overall effect was that of pure snow glistening in the sunlight, a perfect choice for their Frozen number.

They changed in comfortable silence. Clarke was thankful for the brief interlude before the chaos resumed. The anger in her mother's eyes still troubled her and she had a bad feeling about the meeting the producers had arranged after the show. Everyone wanted to meet the President and VP, so they had put together a small gathering of Pros and Stars still competing on the show that would occur in one of the spare studio rooms after the evening had concluded. Clarke knew her mother despised these meet and greet sessions and the fact that the majority of people in attendance would be professional dancers was not going to help. Add to that her mother already appearing pissed off and Clarke was pretty sure disaster was imminent.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: "In time we hate that which we often fear" - Antony and Cleopatra**

Clarke's pulse careened into overdrive as she stared at her hands clasped tightly around her knees. This was the moment she had been waiting for. Everything they had been through condensed down to the next minute and a half. She could feel Bellamy's shoulders trembling under her weight, both of them overwhelmed with adrenaline as they waited for the first strains of music to wash over the ballroom. She had paid absolutely no attention to the video package the producers had pieced together; there'd been clips of her mother speaking, and even the President, but she hadn't let herself be pulled along by their words. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to clear her mind and concentrate only on the dance to come. Her head was a million places at once, worrying about her mother, doubting her dancing abilities, wishing Wells was in the audience. It was a high speed ping pong match, never giving her a moment's pause.

"Breathe, Princess," Bellamy murmured against her ear. She clung to his deep voice, trying to distill the experience down to just the two of them. They knew the steps like they knew their own hands. She just had to dance like they were the only ones in the universe. Screw the judges and most definitely screw her mother. This moment was hers.

As the music began, she unwound from Bellamy's shoulders, blossoming into her downward extension. Her heart thundered as he hovered over her, but the moment lacked the uncontrollable passion of their Tango. This was different, more pure, each touch so much more than desire. She was melting into him, letting the walls between them fall to pieces as he carried her, like a small child, across the void of the ballroom.

A painful tenderness seized her as he leaned back into her grasp, his trust absolute. Her entire body vibrated, but her arms never shook and Bellamy never hesitated as his weight settled against her, his back arching in a movement of pure beauty. She held the pose as long as possible, pushing against the strains of the music. Finally, she had to let go and he moved away from her, leaving her exposed. The moment only lasted a breath or two before he was back, his strong hands caressing trails of warmth across her skin. She was on fire with something stronger than desire, something more primal and beyond verbal explanation. Her skin sizzled and burned, but her breath was calm and her heartbeat steady.

His hand latched on to her ankle, grounding her and setting her free. Her entire being imploded and exploded, her soul stretching out to eternity as she dipped into a deep port du bras, her hair brushing the ballroom floor. Nothing but his steady grasp kept her from tumbling backward, but she didn't give the precarious pose a second thought. Clarke breathed deeply, letting the moment rush through her.

Then she was against him, their breath mingling and lips brushing as she soared off the ground. She shifted easily to hook her knee on his forearm, the motion of the lift engrained within her. The ballroom was a blur as she floated, the Earth far beneath her; Clarke's absolute trust in him giving no need for hesitation.

The floor felt cold against her bare feet as she finally lowered to the ground, her toes itching for the feel of air rushing through them. She had no time to dwell on the loss as Bellamy moved to stand beside her, extending a hand forward, as if casting a spell. She followed his wordless direction, bending backward to her maximum and as she surrendered to his enchantment. Her breath quickened she felt the air stir around her, anticipating his strong arms locked around her. A second later he swept her off her feet, sending her soaring to the stratosphere again. Clarke held her backward extension, feeling the delicious tension from her fingertips to her toes. She clung to the freedom of the movement, wishing the moment could stretch to eternity.

The moment broke as she shifted to cling to Bellamy, breathing in the heady scent of him before she flew outward again, his strong arms guiding her arching back in a perilous orbit. The powerful vocals resonated through her as she grasped him again, now I've got you in my space, I won't let go of you. She would never let go. Even as she flew through the air away from him, his powerful arms launching her in a graceful arc, she knew there was no letting go. They belonged to each other now. They had latched on and there was absolutely no going back.

She felt serene as she waited for his touch again, as if she had transcended beyond the flesh. There was only peace, music and Bellamy. Maybe she should have wondered at the sublime feeling, but she latched on instead, embracing it as he embraced her. The spotlights flashed above her as she spiraled through the air before landing securely in Bellamy's arms, as if she weighed no more than a feather.

She wanted to laugh, cry and scream at the same time. This was the freedom she had been searching for her whole life. She'd never known it was possible to feel so peaceful and unguarded before, but she'd dreamed. Each movement became spiritual, divine in its freedom. Maybe this was Nirvana. It hardly mattered if she could put a name to the feeling or not. For once in her life, Clarke allowed herself to fully let go. She surrendered to the movement, the hypnotic strains of music and the feel of Bellamy moving against her.

Their closing pose arrived all too soon. Clarke ached to continue their dance, but the crushing applause of the audience drew her back down from the clouds. Bellamy's face was millimeters away from hers, they ended in an almost kiss, and desperate emotion simmered in his dark eyes. She had a mere moment to wonder at the conflict in his expression before he was closing the gap between them. Her mouth met his on instinct, their lips moving in a familiar but no less exhilarating dance. She collapsed against him, the mix of adrenaline and desire rendering her legs useless.

"I hate to break the moment, but the judges are ready to speak to you guys." Tom Bergeron's voice floated at her periphery, but she paid no attention. Bellamy was flush against her and the idea of separating even a centimeter from him filled her with distaste. "Guys?"

Bellamy pulled back slowly, the heat of him lingering with her. He smiled gently down at her as he huskily whispered, "Sorry. I tried not to kiss you, but it was impossible."

She gave his arm a squeeze. "People were going to find out eventually. I think you just significantly accelerated the process."

He narrowed his eyes at her as they reluctantly made their way to face the judging panel. "You're not mad?"

"No, Bell, I'm not mad."

They were almost standing next to Tom now. "What about your mother?"

She scanned the audience quickly, zeroing in on her mother's face. Abigail's eyes flashed dangerously and she looked, if possible, even angrier than before. Clarke swallowed and abruptly brought her gaze back to Bellamy's dark chocolate eyes. "Fuck my mother. I'm living my own life."

Tom Bergeron chose that moment to extend the microphone to them. No one flinched or looked away, so she assumed no one had heard her comment. Tom smiled expectantly at them and Clarke realized he must have asked them a question. She shared a lost look with Bellamy before smiling politely and asking, "How about we just get the judges reaction?"

Tom seemed confused but not particularly put out by her response as he motioned for Carrie Ann to start. The former ballroom dancer wiped away tears as she faced them. "First, I think you two should get married!"

The audience roared with approval and Clarke sent a sideways glance toward Bellamy. His face was set in a polite smile and despite their recent closeness she couldn't tell what he was thinking. Carrie Ann continued, undeterred by her comment's lukewarm reception. "That was poetry in motion. I feel… I feel so amazingly privileged to have witnessed that piece of art. There's something so powerful between the two of you and it translates beautifully to the dance floor." She paused to dab at her tears again. "So thank you. That was a beautiful gift to all of us tonight."

"How about you, Bruno?"

"Bellamy, Clarke that was one of the most beautiful things we've ever seen on the show." Bruno wasn't jumping out of his chair as usual, but his serious expression told Clarke that he wasn't exaggerating for effect this time. "You catapulted me out of this world to a magical place and told me one of the most beautiful love stories. I am floored by the artistry and the choreography, Bellamy. The chemistry between you is out of this world. I just want to see more; you had me completely captivated. As Carrie Ann said, thank you for giving us this piece."

"So far very high praise. Len?"

"Well done." Len smiled up at both of them and Clarke couldn't help but grin back. No matter how far she advanced, praise from Len was no small thing. "You kept it simple and you told the story with the movement, not with overdone theatricality. I really wish we could see more out of you two, there's a lot of potential there."

Tom stepped forward, ushering Bellamy and Clarke toward the stairs. "All sounding very positive. Don't forget to vote on Twitter for the freestyle you most want to see repeated tomorrow night in the second stage of our finals."

Bellamy dipped his head, his lips brushing her hair as he whispered. "See? Even Len thinks you have potential as a dancer, Clarke. It's not just me."

She tilted her head up toward him, his silky curls dragging across her cheek. "I'm trying very hard to believe both of you."

His dark eyes were luminous this close, drawing her toward him. She brushed a half kiss on his cheek, resisting the urge to melt into him. There would be time for that later, right now they still had to face Erin Andrews.

Bellamy gripped her hand tightly as they reached the top of the stairs, guiding her toward Erin. The smile on Erin's face had Clarke's stomach doing a backflip or two, but she reminded herself that it didn't matter. She and Bellamy were in love with each other and fuck the rest of the world if they had a problem with that.

"That was quite a lip lock at end there. Care to comment?"

Bellamy's eyes darted momentarily to Clarke's face as Erin spoke. He nodded to himself as he turned to face the camera. "We're dating."

Erin blinked vacantly at them for a second before she recovered, clearly not expecting such a candid response. "How long has this been going on?"

Clarke tried not to sound annoyed as she replied, "A few weeks. But really we're here for our scores, right?"

"Right." Erin relented. "So can I have the judges scores?"

Clarke grinned up at Bellamy, simply enjoying the moment, as the scores rolled in. To absolutely no one's surprise, they got three tens. She barely heard Erin reminding the viewers to vote, but she tried to smile kindly into the camera. They may have danced well, but winning the Mirror Ball required getting the fan vote. Clarke had ceased to care about winning the competition, she had already gained so much, but she knew how much it meant to Bellamy. It would be truly special if he could retire while on top.

Once they were done with Erin, Bellamy captured her in his arms, spinning her in circles as a boyish grin split his face. "I can't believe it, Princess! That went even better than I imagined."

"I know," she gushed, unable to contain her joy. "That was the best minute and a half of my life."

He set her down, a small frown working its way across his chiseled features. "What about…"

Her eyes widened as she realized what he was referring to. "Bellamy! They're different."

"You said it was the best of your life…" The frown was dissolving into a teasing smile that made him look sinfully handsome and roguish.

"Sex and dancing fall into different categories for me. I can't really compare the two." She paused, adding a teasing lilt to her voice. "All you need to know is that you're the star in both categories."

He chuckled, the uninhibited noise sending warmth through her. "I suppose that will have to do."

They had made their way backstage as they talked and Bellamy paused to lean against the doorway of her dressing room. She gave him a considering look before beckoning to him. "Come inside?"

He hummed deeply in his throat and pulled her to him while backing through the door. She groaned into his mouth, relishing the feel of his strong hands working their way down her back before latching on to her ass and pulling her up to settle firmly against him. She was in the middle of another shameless moan when the clearing of a throat penetrated the haze of desire. Bellamy must have noticed as well since he quickly lowered her back to the ground and swung them around to face the interior of the room.

Clarke expected Raven's leering expression or Charlotte's innocent blush. Instead she was met with the full fury of Abigail Griffin, who was flanked by none other than the President of the United States, Thelonius Jaha. Clarke stiffened against Bellamy, rearing back as if faced with a poisonous snake. She couldn't see his expression, but she could feel the rapid pant of his breath against her neck and the erratic beat of his heart against her back. How mortifying for him to be caught in such a position in front of the President. Jaha was nearly family to Clarke, but Bellamy had only met him once before at Wells' funeral. She shifted to stand more fully in front of him.

"What the hell are you doing back here, mother? The reception isn't scheduled for another hour."

Abigail's voice shook with restrained anger as she spit out, "The producers thought it would be a good idea if your mother surprised you."

"The producers were wrong. Get out. Nice to see you, Thelonious. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"No." Abigail took a step forward from where she leant against one of the vanities. "This has gone on long enough. Tomorrow night you will board a plane back to DC with me and we will put this silliness behind us."

Bellamy tensed behind her, his muscles flexing against her back. There was no doubt as to what Abigail meant by silliness. Clarke glared back at her mother. Bile was rising in her throat and her fists were clenched so tightly that her fingernails were beginning to draw blood. "I said, get out."

"You lied to me, Clarke." Abigail now stood close enough for Clarke to make out the throbbing vein at her temple. "You said you weren't sleeping with this…this boy. But you are. I saw the surveillance photos from Denver. I know what you two have been up to." Now the elder Griffin directed her ire at Bellamy. "I will not have you destroy my daughter's life."

Bellamy started to move forward, but Clarke cut him off, shaking her head. This was her fight. "You're having me followed?"

"You've always been followed, Clarke." Abigail ground out. "Your security is important to the well being of the United States. Of course the Secret Service are following you. It's hardly my fault you never paid enough attention to notice."

"You never fucking told me that was happening! Dad would have told me."

"You wouldn't even look at me after your father died, Clarke. How was I supposed to explain anything to you when you couldn't stand to be in the same room as me? I tried to tell you what was going to happen, but you just tuned me out. You never bothered to try, Clarke." Abigail's voice was thick with desperation, but Clarke was too furious to care.

"So you've been watching my every move since dad died, huh?" She didn't know whether to feel sick or murderous. On one level she understood that being followed by the Secret Service was an unfortunate, but necessary, side effect of being related to the Vice President, but it still felt like a tidal wave had crashed into her, shattering any feelings of privacy she might have had.

Her mother's eye twitched as she met Clarke's stare. "I don't watch you. I only looked at the recent pictures because you took an unscheduled trip to Denver. That sets off a lot of alarm bells. And then I saw the pictures of you with… him."

"Bellamy Blake!" Clarke exploded. "His name is Bellamy Blake and I love him. You don't get to ruin this for me too."

"Honey," her mother's expression softened, but Clarke's stance did not relax. She knew her mother. The next words out of her mouth would not be ones of kindness. "I'm saving you from a terrible mistake. I'm not ruining your life, I'm saving it."

She felt Bellamy's grip tighten on her arm, but aside from the hash breaths washing over her neck, he remained silent. Thelonious had been frozen in place thus far, not daring to intercede. Clarke swiftly glanced over to the President. He had a troubled look on his face and his weighty stare was directed squarely at her mother's back. Clarke felt a burst of cruel satisfaction. It was clear he wanted no part in her mother's behavior.

"I'm not moving back to DC after the show finishes, so I'm certainly not going with you tomorrow night." Clarke hoped her stare was pure fire. She wanted to burn holes through Abigail Griffin's skull.

"What in the world have you done?"

"I withdrew from medical school last week when we came back from Denver." Clarke ignored her mother's gasp of horror. "Bellamy and I have made plans to start a dance company together there. We start renting the studio in the summer. I'm done playing your games. I was trying to be someone that just isn't me."

Abigail was speechless for a moment before she finally raised her jaw from the floor. Her eyes were lost as they stared back at Clarke, as if she hardly knew her daughter. "But… but what would your father say?"

"He'd say 'kudos, kid.' He never would have supported me going into a career I have no love for. I don't love medicine, mom, not the way I love dancing. I have a really great opportunity to make a living dancing. I'm not going to pass that up. Not for you, not even for dad." Clarke sighed heavily, the anger morphing into exhaustion. "I'm tired of having these fights. Please, accept my decisions or just let me go."

"Abigail," Thelonious spoke for the first time, his deep voice cutting the heavy silence that followed Clarke's ultimatum. "She's a grown up now and she has been for some time. You can't keep holding on so tight."

Her mother glanced briefly at President Jaha before looking back at Clarke with an eerily vacant expression. When she spoke her voice was brittle, as if a single touch would shatter her to pieces. "I guess the decision has been made. You are not my daughter."

Clarke stared at the woman before her, trying to comprehend what was happening. She felt her knees knock together an instant before Bellamy's arms pulled her securely against him, keeping her upright. Nausea swelled in her gut and she nearly doubled over from the sensation. Only Bellamy's strong frame against her kept her from falling over the edge. So this was how it ended. In a backstage dressing room at a Hollywood studio. She had no idea what to think or even what she should be thinking. She knew they had some irreconcilable differences, but she never thought that her mother would simply cut the ties between them. Not like this.

When her eyes finally focused, she was looking directly into the pained gaze of Thelonious Jaha. He had one hand on Abigail's shoulder while the other rested at his temple, as if he were experiencing an extreme migraine. He looked as shell-shocked as Clarke felt. She couldn't bring herself to look at her mother, so she kept her eyes locked on Thelonious. After what seemed like an eternity, but must have been a few stunned seconds, the President drew back from Abigail and moved toward Clarke and Bellamy. He spoke in a harsh whisper as he stood before them, his head bowed in defeat. "Clarke, I'm so sorry. I'll see what I can do, but I think it's best if we leave tonight. Give my apologies to the cast and crew as I don't think we'll be making the reception. Best of luck tomorrow to both of you. I'm very proud of all you've achieved here. I'm sure Wells would be too."

Clarke nodded absently, not trusting herself to speak. She numbly watched him usher her mother out of the room. It felt like a scene at a theatre, as if despite it playing out before her, it was all merely fiction. The bang of the shutting door jarred the silence, but she felt no need to react.

When Bellamy moved away from her, she nearly startled in shock. His reassuring presence had momentarily been forgotten in the misery of the moment. She forced herself to take a deep breath, searching for the familiar scent of sandalwood. He turned her in his arms, his dark eyes nearly black as he stared down at her. "Shit. I never thought… I mean if I had known this was going to happen, I would never have-"

"Would never have what?" Clarke challenged, her voice hoarse.

He pulled roughly at his dark curls as he backed away from her, his head shaking in disbelief. "I don't know… never have let this happen. Your mother's right. I've fucking ruined your life. It only took ten weeks too. Damn it!"

His speech was punctuated by the shattering of one of the dressing room mirrors as his fist plowed into the wall. She knew she should have felt something as she watched the jagged pieces fall and the blood drip down his hand, but she was numb. She watched the blood trails spread across his olive skin with a detachment that she had often wished for in medical school, but never been able to attain. He moved toward her again, cradling his hand against his bare chest. "Clarke?"

She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "Sorry. Things just aren't working for me right now." She stared blankly at his hand. "You should do something about that."

Bellamy shrugged. "I'll survive. I'm more worried about you."

Clarke watched the red droplets grow before reaching critical mass and dripping onto the carpet at their feet. "You're getting blood on the rug."

"It doesn't matter." He reached out with his good hand. "Let's get out of here. Where are your street clothes?"

"Hey guys, I just saw the…" Raven banged into the room, took one look at Bellamy and Clarke and stopped dead in her tracks. "What the hell is going on in here?"

Clarke stared back at her blankly, still unable to firmly grasp the present, before turning to look at Bellamy. He glanced down at his bloody hand and back up a Raven, his expression guarded. "It's not what it looks like."

Raven's glare intensified in his direction. "I'm really not sure what the fuck it looks like, Blake, so you might as well start talking."

"Bellamy punched the mirror."

"Thank you, Clarke, but it really doesn't take a genius to put that part together," Raven bit back, clearly trying not to roll her eyes. "I can figure out the what, just not the why."

Bellamy ran his good hand through his hair with a sigh. "It's personal, okay Reyes?"

"Considering the shared experiences of the present company, I think we're past the point of worrying about privacy," Raven quipped. She crossed her arms over her chest, the very picture of intimidation in her leather freestyle costume.

Clarke felt a surge of anger at Raven's comment followed by an overwhelming wave of relief that she could feel anything at all. She sighed, sending a comforting glance in Bellamy's direction. "It's okay, Bell. It's just my mother being her typical self. Nothing to write home about."

Raven's eyes softened at she met Clarke's tired stare. "I think it's a bit more than that. From what I know of both of you, Griffin women are pretty damn tough."

Bellamy shifted away from the stool he had been leaning on to place his good hand on Clarke's shoulder. The warmth of his hand bled into her. She leaned further against him, trying to absorb his strength, and he shifted to pull her flush against his chest. She sighed at the feel of his breath ghosting against her neck before looking back up at Raven. "She pretty much disowned me."

"Disowned? That's harsh." Raven's eyes moved knowingly between the two of them. "So she doesn't like the new boy toy?"

"Reyes," Bellamy growled, the word rumbling against Clarke's back.

"Chillax, Blake. I'm teasing." She rolled her eyes and huffed at Bellamy before tilting her head at Clarke. "Don't take this wrong way too, Blake, but you hardly seem like the type to send mothers running for the hills. You're a bad boy, sure, but not that bad a boy. Plus Clarke here seems to have achieved in turning you into mush."

Bellamy muttered something unflattering under his breath that Clarke couldn't quite decipher, but stayed otherwise silent. Clarke contemplated what to tell Raven. The two of them weren't exactly friends, but she liked the other girl despite their shared affiliation with the Bellamy Blake admirer's club. It might be good to talk about what had happened with someone on the outside anyway. While she valued Bellamy's input, the blood dripping from his hand was evidence enough that impartiality was not within his reach in this scenario. She watched another scarlet drop fall from his hand where it rested next to her hip. They really needed to do something about that.

"Bellamy?" He made a humming noise that vibrated her back. "Could you please do something about your hand before you paint our entire dressing room red?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah… right." He took a step away from her, surveying the room for an appropriate solution.

Raven nodded toward the rear of the dressing room. "There's first aid kit in the last drawer. Aren't you supposed to know this shit, Blake?"

He shrugged carelessly as he crossed the room. "They educate us about our own dressing room, not the guest one. It's not like we ever use this one."

Clarke resisted pointing out that Bellamy seemed to have spent an awful lot of time in the guest dressing room with Roma. She did not want to think about him with another woman right now. They had already been down that path and she wanted to believe that she had gained enough confidence not to go crashing back to her anxieties each time that part of his past reared its head, but this was not the time to push herself emotionally. She already felt like she'd been flayed, doused with gasoline and set on fire.

Bellamy had found the first aid kit and was wrapping his hand with a roll of white gauze by the time Clarke worked up the confidence to answer Raven. "It's not that my mother dislikes Bellamy. Although I do think she hates him. It's that I've quit medical school to start a dance company with him. She'd be okay if I was dating him, but not if I'm a business partner with him. She's pretty sure he's completely ruining my life."

Raven barely reacted to her words, merely nodding shortly when she was done. "So do you hate medical school?"

"I was only doing it for my father and I realize now that's not really what he would want."

"He died two years ago, right?" Raven's blunt question was actually refreshing. More often than not people danced around the issue of her father's death, which was infinitely more upsetting.

"Yeah. We were pretty close." Clarke paused, feeling the void of her father swell within her. Every day she got used to that pain a little more, but it never faded. "When he died, my mom and I really didn't have much to say to each other anymore. Maybe we never had anything to say to each other. Maybe the only reason we felt like family was my dad…"

Raven twisted her hands together for a moment, spinning the large rings she wore on each hand before shaking her head. "She'll get over it. You're the only thing she really has left in this world. I think she's more upset by the fact that she's not only thing you have left. You're living your own life and she can't hold on to you. I'm not saying the lady did the right thing or anything like that, but I'm pretty sure she hasn't disowned you for life."

Clarke studied Raven's dark eyes, trying to gauge her honesty. Raven stared back, eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge, as if she knew Clarke wasn't ready to believe her. It hardly mattered if she believed Raven or not; reality wasn't going to be defined by Raven, regardless of how certain she seemed in her convictions. She settled on shrugging and trying not to look as despondent as she felt. "Maybe. I have no idea what goes on in her brain. If she's on X-ray wavelengths then I'm a fucking radio wave."

The corners of Raven's mouth twisted up in a small smirk. "Nice analogy there, Griffin." She glanced down at her leather costume and then back up at Bellamy and Clarke. "Now it's time for you kids to shoo. I've got to change."

"Yeah, me too," Clarke said, looking around for her bag.

Raven beat her to it, holding the multicolored canvas tote out to her. "Here. Now go! This damn corset chafes like a bitch."

"Clarke has to change too, Reyes," Bellamy reminded from the corner where he was putting the first aid kit back into the drawer.

Raven pursed her lips for a moment before letting out a small huff and waving her hand dismissively at him. "Fine. You get out then. You may have seen it all before but there's no way I'm baring all in front you now, Blake."

His chocolate eyes met Clarke's for one panicked second before he stalked through the room. "You just had to bring that up, didn't you, Reyes?"

Raven grinned at him, the result resembling a feral cat honing in on its prey. "I'm your personal ray of sunshine, Blake. Here for your every need."

"Sunshine my ass, Reyes." He dropped a kiss to Clarke's loose curls as he passed her, murmuring, "I'll see you at the car. I don't think I can stand another minute with her right now."

Despite her dour mood, Bellamy's exit was punctuated by a snort of amusement from Clarke's lips. It was astounding how perfectly Raven managed to push all of his buttons. It was as if someone had given her the manual to Bellamy Blake, which she had then studied so carefully that she had annoying him down to an exact science. Clarke shook her head as she slipped out of the pale pink leotard. "I have no idea how you convinced him to sleep with you."

"Restraint," Raven replied immediately as she started to untie her corset. "He was too pretty to pass up, so I practiced an admirable amount of restraint until I got what I wanted."

"Rumor is that you just used him to get back at Finn." Clarke wasn't sure how that suggestion was going to go over, but she had nothing to lose and Raven seemed in a talking mood.

Raven frowned as Clarke stopped speaking and speared her with dark flashing eyes for several long moments before looking away. "I suppose I owe you the truth, seeing as how you're bound to become Mrs. Blake one day or another. Finn and I used to date growing up, but when I went off to college we kind of just went our separate ways until we met up again about a year ago. His modeling was going well and my company was finally on solid ground. The old sparks were still there, so we kind of just went with it. I knew he sometimes slept around, but so did I."

Raven pushed the leather costume violently to the ground and reached for her bra and tank top. "I should have known better than to fall for Finn again, but the heart wants what it wants, ya know? When I walked in on him and Roma, I just snapped. It's one thing to know the guy you love is sleeping with other people, it's an entirely different thing to see it. We've sorted through it now and we're trying a monogamous relationship." Raven sighed as she slipped the dark gray tank over her head. "I'm not proud of what I did, Clarke, but I don't regret it either. Bellamy was ticked at Roma for something, no idea what, so I knew he was available the week of the partner swap. Anyway, a guy kind of loses all ability to think once you've taken off your clothes."

"Did he know?" Clarke stared at the lights on the vanity in front of her, her eyes straining against their brilliance. She didn't dare look at Raven. Octavia had assured her that Bellamy had known the full extent of the situation, but Clarke had wondered if that knowledge had come before or after his rendezvous with Raven. She would never ask him, it was too prying a question with too little justification, but perhaps Raven would give her what she needed. Clarke understood that his life before her technically had no impact on their relationship, but she couldn't help the festering need that had built up in her to at least understand this.

"Clarke." Raven's voice was softer than Clarke had ever heard it. "Look at me." Clarke reluctantly raised her eyes, expecting steel but finding an emotion she had never seen on Raven's face. Her eyes were as soft as her voice, the warm brown embracing Clarke. "I have no idea what Bellamy knew. All I know is that the minute you needed him, really needed him, he broke it off with both Roma and me. It's always been you, Clarke. I have never seen anyone so in love with someone as that man is with you." She reached out a tanned arm to squeeze Clarke's hand where it rested on her lap. "Stop asking questions whose answers don't matter and enjoy what you have. Blake may annoy the shit out of me sometimes, but he's a good man, even better when he's with you."

Clarke held Raven's luminous gaze for a beat longer, soaking in the other woman's words. Her shoulders relaxed and she felt the tension diffuse out of her. Raven was right. She already had enough drama on her plate with her mother; she didn't need to make a mountain out of a molehill when it came to Bellamy and Raven. She sighed, dropping her head to her chest and absently running her hands through her thick blonde tresses. She felt drawn, if not quartered. When was the insanity going to let up or was this just the rest of her life?

"Go home to Bellamy, Clarke." Raven spoke the command gently while handing Clarke her bag. "But be ready tomorrow because I plan to thoroughly kick your ass and Charlotte's ass. The Mirror Ball is mine!"

A halfhearted laugh tore out of Clarke's throat. She shook her head, taking the tote and rising to her feet. "Thanks, Raven."

"Anytime, Griffin." Raven gave her a small wave as Clarke backed out of the dressing room door and started down the hallway toward Bellamy's car. Her head throbbed and her body ached. The night had been a yo-yo of emotions and all she wanted to do was collapse in bed next to Bellamy. She would deal with reality some other day.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: "Some have greatness thrust upon them" - Twelfth Night**

"I can't believe you girls stole my place in the finals!" Lincoln groused good naturedly from where he sat next to Octavia.

"Hey there, Blackwell, we earned our spots through hard work and sweat," Raven retorted sending Lincoln a sour look.

Clarke merely shook her head, willing herself to forget the final was starting in less than four hours. Last night had been the eye of the hurricane. She and Bellamy had collapsed into bed together after a quick pasta meal provided by Octavia and matching tumblers of scotch. Octavia had clearly been itching to ask about the showdown with her mother, but had shown uncharacteristic restraint. The morning had been a disaster with Bellamy hauling Clarke out of bed and into the kitchen before plying her with infinite cups of coffee. She still felt like a herd of angry elephants had trampled her in her sleep, but if not even the jolt of caffeine could help, she supposed she simply had to man up. There was no way she was letting Bellamy down the day of the finale because she'd let her mother get to her.

"Mind if I join?" Lexa hovering above her yanked Clarke out of her ruminations. They'd decided to stick around the studio for lunch, ordering Jimmy John's sandwiches to go. Seeing Lexa again hadn't even crossed her mind, but the whole cast was present for the second night of the finale. Lexa finding her had only been a matter of time. She quietly groaned at the raised her head to meet her ex-girlfriend's penetrating stare. It was as if the universe was pulling out all the stops and bombarding her with every possible obstacle on a day where she needed calm the most. Clarke stared balefully back at Lexa, not even bothering to hide her lack of enthusiasm.

Lexa didn't miss a beat as she shifted her gaze to the other parties sitting at the table. Octavia glanced at Clarke before pursing her lips and nodding. "Sure."

Lexa slipped into the open space across from Clarke, sparing a brief smile for Octavia before narrowing her eyes. "I saw the broadcast last night."

Clarke kept her face as stoic as possible, unwilling to give Lexa the reaction she was looking for. "Good for you."

"You and Blake." Lexa crossed her arms over her chest, the planes of her angled face hardened by her severe expression. "I suppose I should have seen that one coming. You did seem to care an awful lot about him."

Clarke felt her eye twitch. She swallowed deeply before replying, "What's it to you? Last time I checked we were long over, Lexa."

Lexa's harsh expression thawed a hair. "Believe it or not, Clarke, I do care about you. I just want what's best for you."

"Now you sound just like my mother. Did she put you up to this?"

"What?" Lexa appeared genuinely confused by Clarke's sudden ire. "What does your mother have to do with anything?"

Clarke let out a sigh of relief. At least Lexa was just being her usual abrasive self and hadn't succumbed to being one of her mother's pawns. "We had a fight. It didn't end well. She absolutely hates Bellamy."

Lexa's stiff posture relaxed to a more neutral position. "I may not be his biggest fan, but you'd have to be blind and deaf not to know how much he cares about you. I may not like that you've chosen to be with him, but I don't think he's bad for you."

"I'm also quitting medical school and starting a dance company with him. Abigail pretty much lost it when that came up." Clarke was surprised to find a wry grin spreading across Lexa's face at her words. She'd expected distain in the same vein as her mother.

"Good." Lexa's face split into a genuine smile now. "Clarke, you may think I have a stick up my ass, but I did know you. You hated med school before you even went. I was surprised you'd stuck with it for so long."

"Huh." Clarke's teeth worried her lip as she absorbed Lexa's words. "You never thought to let me know I was making a huge mistake?"

"Some things have to be figured out on one's own. I'm glad you've finally figured out this particular lesson."

Raven took advantage of the lull in conversation to lean into Clarke. "How exactly are you and Princess Primrose acquainted?"

Octavia sent Clarke an amused look before answering. "They dated."

Raven glanced back and forth between Lexa and Clarke, her dark eyes penetrating deeply into both of them. "I can see that happening. You'll be happy to know that I actually like Blake better, Clarke. No offense, Congresswoman."

Lexa's jaw muscle twitched but she showed no other reaction as she stared coldly back at Raven. After an infinite moment she turned back to Clarke. "I have to go; I have coffee with Costia."

Clarke nodded absently and raised a hand in farewell greeting as Lexa rose from her seat and all but stalked from the break room. Clarke couldn't help but be annoyed with her former girlfriend. She understood that Lexa was always a bit brusque, but that hardly excused her interrupting their lunch merely to interrogate Clarke about her relationship with Bellamy. They'd spent nearly fourteen hours on a plane together traveling to and from the funeral; Lexa already knew how close Clarke and Bellamy had become. They may not have been dating at the time of the DC trip, but the attraction between them had already grown into something undeniable. Lexa had absolutely no reason to make a fuss about it now. Clarke took a steading breath to avoid grinding her teeth and pulling her hair out. She needed to focus. Tonight was important and this was the absolute wrong moment to turn into an unhinged spaz.

Raven cracked her knuckles and wrinkled her nose. "Well isn't that one just a ray of sunshine."

Octavia rolled her eyes. "She's not so bad. She did manage the entire trip to DC without actually killing Bellamy. Though I'm pretty if looks could kill, he'd be vivisected and tossed to the crows."

"Huh, so she really does like Clarke." Raven's eyebrows flew up. "Damn, girl. I guess she doesn't appreciate that Bellamy is a better fit."

Clarke just wanted to change the subject. All this talk of her love life was doing nothing to calm her down. It felt like a butterfly convention in her stomach, which was threatening to ascend up her throat at any moment. "Guys. Just stop, okay? I have enough going on without you two analyzing every facet of my life."

Lincoln gave her a sympathetic look before commenting, "So who wants to bet that Clarke and Bellamy kick all of the ass tonight?"

"Hey!" Raven huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest, her dark eyes flashing with equal measures of annoyance and humor. "I'm sitting right here."

"But seriously," Lincoln continued. "Their freestyle was fantastic. No offence, Reyes. You were fantastic too, but Bellamy and Clarke are on a whole different level from the rest of us mere mortals."

Raven's posture relaxed and she gave Clarke a rueful smile. "He's right, you know. You and Bellamy make it look like poetry in motion or some other horrendously sappy cliché. Miller and I were watching you guys last night and I swear the guy started to cry. He's been nothing but a stoic drillmaster and then suddenly… waterworks!"

"I don't think there was a dry eye in the house," Octavia added. "I was sitting in the audience with Atom for you guys and about halfway through the sniveling started to be really noticeable. You did a really great job."

Clarke could feel the heat rising on her face, but she was grateful to hear such high praise. She knew how dancing with Bellamy made her feel, but it was nice to hear that it had an effect on others as well. Bellamy kept insisting she had what took to be a professional dancer, but Clarke still couldn't quite believe him. Hearing that their freestyle had such an impact did a lot to help her believe she was making the right decision.

A wave of exhilaration washed over her as she considered their future. Even a week ago such thoughts had triggered dread and fear, but now she was learning to embrace the possibilities that lay ahead. She wanted to make other audiences cry and laugh and smile. She needed to make a difference in other peoples lives and this opportunity gave her a path she'd never dared to consider. She could do what she loved, with the man she loved and have the influence that her soul desired. She shuddered in delightful anticipation.

"Clarke?" She blinked and focused on Octavia's amused smile. "You better not be thinking dirty things about my brother."

Clarke let out a small laugh as she shook her head. "Not this time, O. I'm just finally looking forward to tonight."

"Good. I was worried about you last night." The brunette glanced sideways at Lincoln before asking, "What the hell happened anyway? Bell wouldn't tell me a damn thing. Said it was your story to tell."

Clarke considered what she should say. Raven already knew most of the details and Octavia was likely going to repeat everything to Lincoln anyway. "We got into a fight about Bellamy, which turned into a huge fight when I told her about my plans to start the dance company. The gist of it is that she got pissed that I wasn't following 'the path' and disowned me in front of Bellamy and Jaha."

"Wait," Raven stared at her with huge brown eyes. "The fucking President was there?"

"Yeah. He tried to help, but I think my mother was too angry to really care what was happening. They left for DC last night so I am family drama free tonight. Thank God."

"Damn, that's intense." Octavia ran a hand through her lustrous dark hair. "That also explains why Bell tried to put a hole in the dressing room mirror. I'm sure he felt super guilty."

"Yeah." Clarke stared intensely at the small chips in her nail polish, unwilling to look at Octavia. She felt inordinately guilty that Bellamy felt so responsible for her unhappiness. Her battles with her mother were hardly new and the fact that he was now the epicenter of their disputes was upsetting. She wanted to be able to protect him from the madness that was her family life, not draw him into their web of dysfunction. She stifled a groan.

As if sensing her train of thought, Octavia reached out and grasped Clarke's hands. "Clarke, you're family now. Bell isn't going to just give up because your mother is crazy. I'm pretty sure everyone's mother is crazy. You can't make him do anything he doesn't want to."

"I know that," Clarke sighed. "I just wish that he didn't have to be in the middle of this fight. My mother is pretty much putting all of her anger about my decisions into her hatred of him. It's not fair." She knew she sounded like a whiny teenager right now, but she'd had enough of her mother swooping in like a seagull and shitting on absolutely everything.

"If there's anything that Bell understands, it's that life isn't fair." Octavia voice was soft now and Clarke remembered the haunted look in Bellamy's eyes when he spoke about their childhood. What right did she have to complain about a mother that was merely a pain in the ass when they had grown up with their mother fighting to support them and ultimately failing? She felt as if a dagger had plunged into her gut. This was exactly what Bellamy had expected from her those first few weeks of the competition. She was acting like a spoiled rich girl who made too much out of her own insignificant problems. Damn it. She was better than this.

"Guys, I'm going to try and find Bellamy," she announced, rising abruptly to her feet. Lincoln, Octavia and Raven's adieus cut off as the door swung closed. Where the hell was Bellamy? He'd said something about needing some time after the dress rehearsal blocking had finished, but he hadn't specified what he was doing.

She turned randomly toward the studios, too caught in her own head to notice where she was going. An instant later she impacted a hard chest and strong arms came up to grip her shoulders, steadying her. Clarke was halfway through sighing in relief at finding Bellamy before she realized the hairs on her neck were standing at attention and the hands grasping her shoulders with bruising force were definitely not familiar. A shuddering gasp escaped her throat as she raised her eyes to meet the cold steel of Dax Marshall's penetrating stare. Her skin crawled as he let his eyes rake across her face, dropping briefly to her chest before returning his focus upwards, his lips twisting in a sick impersonation of a smile. "Don't let me hold you up... I assume you're running off to Blake if you're in that much of a hurry. Gotta get a last screw in before the show, huh?"

Clarke gagged at his words, his tone sending shivers of disgust down her spine. They'd never had a conversation before and she sincerely hoped they would never have to speak again. Dax might be all smiles and winks for the audience, but he made her squirm in all the wrong ways.

"Fuck off, Marshall," she spat. Giving her best 'I hope you die in a fire' glare, she wrenched out of his grasp and marched past him down the hallway. She waited until she was several corridors away before collapsing against the wall and taking a steadying breath. Her heart was pounding in a way it never had before, the adrenaline in her system a product of fear, not anticipation. He'd barely touched her, barely even spoken to her, but Clarke felt the need to race to nearest shower and scrub herself raw.

She banged her head against the wall, fighting off the torrent of emotion surging within her. This was not the time to get distracted, no matter how unsettled she felt. There was no way Dax was actually going to try something here, so he didn't warrant her wasting precious concentration and energy. Not now when she had so many other, more important, things on her plate. Clarke took a deep breath, willing the erratic beat of her heart to slow to a more sedate rhythm. She was fine. Nothing had happened and nothing was going to happen. She just needed to find Bellamy and concentrate on the task ahead of her, winning that damn Mirror Ball Trophy.

Once the thundering had abated from her ears, she moved on instinct toward one of the more remote rehearsal studios. It was the same studio Clarke had been reading her book in that fateful Monday night all those weeks ago. She had no idea why she felt Bellamy might be there, but she trusted her gut and quietly opened the door when she arrived.

The lights were off but utility bulbs illuminated the base of the stage. Bellamy was silhouetted in their orange glow as he moved through a series of unfamiliar twists and turns. Clarke took a moment to simply admire the liquid grace of his body in motion. Every single line in his body held a deliberate tension that sent chills down her spine. Just watching him was electrifying. He mouth went dry as he leapt into the air and spun with the elegance of figure skater and the power of a karate black belt. He collapsed to the ground as he landed, flowing effortlessly into a somersault and finishing with his hands grasping toward the air, stretching for something just beyond his grasp. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and the emotion of it forced a gasp from her lips.

He swung towards her, abandoning the dance. She couldn't make out the features of his face, but the backlighting illuminated the growing tension in his shoulders. They stayed frozen a moment, simply studying each other across the dark abyss. After what seemed like a lifetime, Bellamy spoke, his voice gravelly and deep, "Clarke?"

He wasn't asking her to confirm her identity. She swallowed deeply and took a step back, feeling like an intruder. "I'll go. Sorry."

"No!" His response was immediate and lifted some of the doubt from her chest. "No. Come here."

She edged slowly toward him as if moving through molasses. The tension in the room was palatable, but Clarke wasn't sure she was up for yet another emotionally charged conversation. His face coalesced out of the darkness, his dangerously angled jaw first, then the smattering of freckles tracing his sharp cheekbones and finally his darkly luminescent eyes. Her breath shortened and she reminded herself that it was only Bellamy. But he was hardly only Bellamy to her anymore and she could not find the willpower to break out of her entranced state.

When she finally halted, he moved forward, closing the last centimeters between them. His breath was hot on her neck as his lips brushed the shell of her ear. "Clarke." She trembled against him and his lips curved up in a knowing smile against her skin. He pulled back to look down at her face, his eyes flashing dangerously with emotion. "How long were you watching?"

"Only a minute or two," she managed to breathe out. He hummed against her and dragged his lips across the slant of her jaw.

"I take it you like what you saw," he murmured against her skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her neck. She moaned, the sound loud in the empty studio. "Good girl."

"Bellamy." She meant the word as reprimand but it came out like a prayer.

"Yes, Princess?" He was working his way to her collarbone now, his lips trailing fire across her skin and turning her into a shuddering mass of desire. She needed to find some semblance of control. They were going on stage in mere hours and while she wanted nothing more than to surrender to his ministrations, Clarke knew they needed to clear the air. That meant actually talking.

"Bellamy." This time she was firmer as she raised a hand to pull his head away from her, ignoring the way his curls tickled her fingertips. "We need to talk."

Some of the lust fell from his eyes as he stared back at her. He swallowed thickly, his throat moving enticingly, before nodding and stepping away from her, leaving her as chilled as a December evening.

He faced her, about a foot away, his arms crossed protectively over his bare chest. "Okay. Let's talk."

"I'm sorry I was such a wreck last night and this morning. What my mother did was shitty, but in the grand scheme of things, it really isn't so bad." Clarke tried to judge his reaction, but his face was eclipsed in darkness and the gleam of his eyes gave nothing away. "I'm also really sorry you ended up in the middle of all of our shit. I know you can hold your own, but I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry anyway. I don't feel anything like what my mother does and I hope you don't feel any lesser because of the attitude she's taken toward you. She's a closed minded idiot that doesn't know a good thing when she sees it."

"I'm not upset by what your mother said, Clarke. I couldn't give less of a shit what she thinks of me."

"You fucking punched a wall, Bellamy, you give a shit."

He growled as he turned away from her. For a second she thought he was going to walk away, but he turned back around, his face bursting with emotion. "I give a shit about you, Clarke! Don't you get it? I'm fucking pissed that I helped in any way to make you upset. Clarke, you can't tell me your mother would have said those things if I hadn't been in the equation. She might have been pissed, but she'd have never disowned you."

"I think Raven was right, Bellamy," Clarke countered, hating the pain and anger seeping into his eyes. "She's pissed that she's losing me. I'm not sure she's really disowned me… give her time. You have brought me nothing but joy. She has brought me nothing but misery. It doesn't take a genius to see who's at fault in this situation and it sure as fuck isn't you, Bell. Please stop blaming yourself, you're reminding me too much of myself."

He buried his face in his hands, the mess of his curls the only thing Clarke could see. His voice was muffled as he spoke. "I just love you so damn much, Clarke. It scares the shit out me. You matter more to me than I do, okay? So when I see you upset, it just kills me."

"Okay," she murmured, burying a hand in his hair and caressing his scalp. "Okay, I understand that. I'm the same way. I can't stand it when you're unhappy."

He lifted his head to peer out at her from beneath his unruly bangs. "So I guess that means we should both work on being happy, to make each other happy."

She let out a small laugh. "Yeah. I guess so. You know what would make me really happy today?"

"Winning the Mirror Ball Trophy?"

"Yup. And kicking Raven's ass. I love the girl, but she has got to be shut down."

He pulled her to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He placed a chaste kiss atop of her hair as his arms wound strongly around her. "Have you two been shit talking each other?"

"Possibly."

"In that case, we most definitely have to kick her ass. Can't have you making threats you can't follow through on, Princess."

Clarke giggled into his shoulder, feeling lighter. Her mother might still be out there, plotting who knows what, but Clarke had found her place. Nothing, not even her mother, could tear her away from Bellamy Blake.

S~*~S

Clarke sagged into steadfast circle of Bellamy's arms as she watched the spotlight go dark over Charlotte and Nyko. She'd been confident in their freestyle, but a great performance was never a guarantee they would be safe. Bellamy's heart pounded a staccato rhythm at her back and his breath came in short puffs against her neck. He might be holding her up right now, but that didn't mean he wasn't feeling the same overwhelming swell of anticipation. She'd felt so calm before they'd taken the stage for the final elimination, but now she could hardly keep herself together. She wanted time to accelerate and freeze all at once, as she were caught in the event horizon of a black hole. Lacking any powers over gravitation or relativity, Clarke concentrated on the rapid pant of Bellamy's exhales. One, two, three, four… fuck it. The tingling in her fingers had grown from a steady buzz to a thrumming cacophony.

She glanced over at Raven, doing her best not to shake like a soaked kitten. The darkly beautiful woman stood on the opposite side of the ballroom floor with Miller, her stance wrought with tension. Raven's dark eyes met Clarke's with an unflinching stare that promised this would be a fight to the bitter end. Clarke tried to match the challenge in her expression, but her grin was more of a pained grimace and she felt none of the confidence she'd had walking onto the floor. Just minutes ago Clarke had been sure that she and Bellamy were going to own this night, but uncertainty was creeping into every pore of her being, soaking her with cold dread. If it had just been her own success on the line, she would have been calmer, or so she liked to think. But Bellamy stood beside her, an equal partner in both life and dance. She wanted this for him in a way she'd never wanted anything before. Down to the very fiber of her being, she needed him to have this.

She bit down hard on her lip, tasting copper and praying the pain would calm her multiplying nerves. They'd already danced their fusion pieces and nothing was left but to find out which couple was going home with the Mirror Ball Trophy. Raven and Miller had done brilliantly during their fusion dance, matching scores with Bellamy and Clarke, so she had no idea what way the decision would fall. Her chemistry with Bellamy had attracted a lot of fan voting, but Raven was fierce and if Clarke were an audience member back home, Raven would have her vote. Raven's story as self-made woman was far more compelling than Clarke's poor little rich girl angle. Clarke might have a dead father and be fighting with her mother every other day, but she'd grown up in a complete household with food on the table and a roof over her head.

Her time with Bellamy and Octavia had sharpened her awareness of the inequality of her background compared to nearly everyone else on the show. The pro dancers had all risen to success from nearly nothing through hard work and raw talent. The other cast members all seemed to have overcome sizable hardships during their foundational years. Even Lexa, privileged as she appeared now, had dealt with more than her fair share of adversity on her way to a congressional seat. Bellamy's moniker for Clarke often rang more true than she was comfortable admitting.

"Try not to blast through Raven's skull with that stare of yours," Bellamy murmured against her ear. His chest rumbled against her as he spoke and Clarke could feel his heart nearly beating out of his chest. Ever since they'd finished their fusion dance, his nerves had begun a hostile takeover. Clarke had initially been startled by the uncharacteristic jumpiness that now hovered about him in a porcupine-like aura. Bellamy had never even broken a sweat while waiting for scores or eliminations before, but she supposed this was different. He'd never been this close to the Mirror Ball before and Clarke knew that despite his protests, this was one of the most important nights of his life. With the glittering trophy came approbation for all of his sacrifices. If they won, he'd danced for more than just giving Octavia a chance and Clarke wanted him to have that victory.

She intertwined her clammy fingers with his, which rested against the hem of her absurdly short and ostentatiously glittery purple skirt. He took a shuddering breath and his unsteady exhale fell hotly on her neck, raising Goosebumps. She tightened her grip, wishing she could siphon the tension out of him. Erin and Tom were talking now, giving the audience highlights from both Clarke and Raven's time on the show. Clarke leaned further back into him, the skin of her bare back tingling as it came fully in contact with twitching muscles of his bare chest, his shirt having been discarded during the Cha-Cha-Cha portion of their fusion dance. She tilted her head up and whispered, "We've got this, Bell. Don't worry about it."

His fingers twitched under hers. "We don't have anything yet."

"We will. Trust me." She had no idea if she was lying to him or not, but anything was better than feeling him fall to pieces behind her. Good Lord knew he'd held her together more than his fair share of times.

"Why can't they just announce it?" he growled darkly into ear. The husky tone sent her senses cavorting, but she ignored the explosions radiating from her core. Bellamy needed her right now as a partner, not a whimpering heap of nerves and desire. She gave his hands another squeeze and tried to figure out what Erin and Tom were talking about.

"And now the time has come, who will earn the coveted Mirror Ball Trophy this year?"

Tom's question hung in the air, the studio audience absolutely silent in anticipation. Bellamy's rasping breaths behind her drowned out the accelerating thumping in her temples. Her whole body tingled as adrenaline shot through her, leaving her swaying on her feet. Just a few more seconds, that's all she needed to hold on for. She could hardly tell who was shaking more now, as she and Bellamy vibrated against each other, both lost to the tension of the moment.

"The Season 18 Mirror Ball goes to…" Tom left them straining at the edges of their seats for several more nauseating seconds. Clarke's nails dug into Bellamy's wrists. He didn't react, likely didn't even feel the pain. She was quaking now, her whole body trembling like a leaf.

"Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake!"

As she processed the words, the whole room began to spin around her, the audience becoming little more than a blur of sound and color. It was as if her entire life had distilled back into a single moment and then rebounded outward in a catastrophic explosion, a Big Bang of her own existence. Where a second had seemed like a lifetime a moment ago, now seconds flew past at light speed, the whole of her future stretching out in infinite glory.

The feeling of heat caressing her lips shocked her back to the present, the moment snapping back into normal space and time with an abruptness that left her lightheaded. Bellamy's lips were crushing hers, his joy made visceral as he turned her around in the circle of his arms. He pulled back when she didn't fully respond, his dark eyes drinking her in. He leaned forward again, pressing his lips to her forehead and murmuring, as if in prayer, "We really did it. Holy shit, Clarke, we really did it."

She grasped his shoulders with abandon, clinging to him as she reminded herself the moment was real. They'd really done it. At the beginning, she'd entertained no serious thoughts of actually making to the finals, let alone winning. She'd wanted to dance and to distance herself from her mother, but here she was.

A hand on her shoulder had her turning toward a grinning Raven. "I may have dreamed I'd get this, Griffin, but the entire universe knew this one belonged to you and Blake. Congrats."

Clarke stared at her, jaw dropping slightly before she caught herself. "What? I was sure you were going to be pissed."

"Clarke." Raven leveled her with a sardonic glare. "Have you seen yourself dancing with Bellamy? It's like fucking poetry in motion. There's no way the rest of us could even begin to compete. You two were clearly made for each other and the audience at home is completely obsessed with you two. They have a twitter hashtag for you guys that they use with appalling frequency. It's like the rest of us just don't exist on the show."

"Seriously?"

"Yup. I hope you enjoy 'Bellarke.'"

Clarke stared at Raven for a moment in total confusion. A second later her brain caught up with her ears and she groaned. "They just put our names together. I suppose it's better than Clamy, Blaffin, Grake or something else that sounds like a power tool brand or gardening equipment."

Raven's eyes widened and she let out a sound halfway between a snort and a laugh. "Seriously…"

"Clarke!" She turned to find Tom and Erin motioning her to the center of the stage, where Bellamy already stood. He had an earsplitting grin plastered on his face and his eyes glowed with happiness as he stared back at her.

She turned to thank Raven again, but the brunette was already backing away, blending into the crowd of stars and pros that had taken over the majority of the stage. Clarke made her way toward Bellamy, mindful of the copious amounts of glittery confetti coating the floor.

If possible, his grin widened as she reached his side. "Hey, Princess. Ready to get a trophy?"

Clarke threw her arms around his neck, crushing him to her, before pulling back and nodding. "Let's do this."

Tom and Erin exchanged a look of fond amusement before Tom lifted the Mirror Ball from its stand and held it out to Clarke. She took it without hesitation, never losing eye contact with Bellamy. "Thanks, Tom, but this one isn't for me. I'd like everyone to know that this belongs to Bellamy Blake. I wouldn't be standing here if it weren't for his infinite patience and incredible talent. He took me under his wing and worked the impossible. In fact…" Here she paused and grinned up at Bellamy. His eyes widened as he realized what she was about to do. He gave a brief twitch of his head, as if trying to tell her it wasn't necessary, but she shook her head. This was something she needed to do. "In fact, Bellamy and I are going to start a dance company this fall in Denver, CO. We are both so thankful to Dancing With the Stars for its unparalleled experiences, but it's time for both of us to make some dance magic of our own."

Tom and Erin had traded amusement in for shock as they listened to Clarke. Tom was the first to find words, Erin still too flabbergasted to muster a response. "So this is your last season with us, Bellamy?"

Bellamy wrapped a protective arm around Clarke's shoulders, his eyes catching on the Mirror Ball Trophy for a moment before progressing to meet Tom's perplexed stare. "Yeah. I'm incredibly thankful for all that I've been able to achieve on the show, but it's time for me to move on. It doesn't hurt that I've found the perfect partner, both on and off the dance floor."

Tom spared a brief look at Clarke. "So you're serious about your relationship with Ms. Griffin?"

"Deadly serious. I've never met anyone like Clarke before and I know I'll never meet anyone like her again. I'm not letting go of something that good, no matter how complicated things might get." The last portion of his speech was directed at the cameras, giving Clarke no doubt that it was intended for her mother.

"So, Clarke, you're not going back to medical school in D.C.?" Erin had finally found her voice.

"No. That was a dream of my mother's. I've learned to trust myself and I know that dancing with Bellamy is what I really want to do." Clarke paused, unsure of how much personal information she wanted to reveal. Her mind whirled as she stared into the dark camera lens. The old Clarke would stay quiet, keep her weaknesses to herself and hope no one noticed. She wasn't particularly fond of the old Clarke. "I was staying in medical school because it made me feel closer to my father, who was killed by a drunk driver a little over two years ago. He was a scientist and I thought that if I did science too, I wouldn't feel so far away from him. But I love dancing and I understand now that my dad would be happy for me. He just wanted me to be happy…"

Traitorous tears were threatening to spill over by the time Clarke finished. This was supposed to be a happy moment and here she was bringing all of her own drama into it. She blinked fiercely, trying to hold the waterworks at bay. Part of being the new Clarke was doing things that exposed herself in ways she would never have entertained before. While she wasn't looking forward to America watching her tear up, she wasn't dreading it. Bellamy tightened his grip on her shoulders, sending a calming ripple through her body.

Erin and Tom were now staring at her with rapt attention, as if she had given them what they had always wanted on the show and they could not quite believe their eyes. Clarke took at deep breath. "Anyway, this is for you too, dad. Wherever you are, I hope you know how much I love you and that I still miss you everyday." She waved the Mirror Ball Trophy in the air for a moment before finally succumbing to the tears.

She could hardly believe she was sobbing on national television, but nothing, not even Bellamy's low murmurings and strong arms, could impede the deluge. All of the tension that had been building up inside of her, the uncertainties about her future with Bellamy, the fight with her mother, the loss of Wells, had finally snapped her carefully constructed façade. She could do nothing more than ride out the storm, praying she would still be sane on the other side.

At some point, the cameras must have turned off because when she finally calmed enough to see through the cascade of water flooding her vision she was faced with only Bellamy, Octavia and Raven. Bellamy held her firmly ensconced in his arms while Octavia knelt next to him, a look of concern marring her delicate features. Raven stood further back, her expression uncertain. Clarke felt a wave of gratitude that she'd chosen to stay despite her obvious discomfort. They might have started off on tenuous footing, but she now counted Raven as an almost friend.

Noticing the tension draining from her frame, Bellamy loosened his grip and set her on the stage next to him. "You know, Princess, most people don't burst into tears when they win a trophy."

His voice was laced with quiet amusement and Clarke couldn't help giving him a watery smile. "Yeah, well, I'm not most people." She sighed and picked at the fastening to her dance stiletto. "So be honest, how horrendously embarrassed should I be?"

"You shouldn't be." Raven's strong voice cut across the room. "So you showed a bit of emotion. That's not necessary a bad thing. Most people who win this thing aren't even half as invested as you, Clarke."

"I didn't mean to bring up my dad. It just sort of happened and then I just kind of lost it. I didn't think I still felt so strongly about all of that." She should have known better. The pain she felt whenever she thought about Jake Griffin had never lessened; it had merely become a part of her. A choked laugh tore from her throat. "At least I didn't start talking about Wells too."

"Raven's right," Octavia told her. "I don't think anyone thinks you should be embarrassed."

"I think they cut the cameras before you really started to sob anyway," Bellamy offered softly, his deep brown eyes churning with too many emotions to identify. "We're all proud of you, Clarke."

Clarke glanced across to where the Mirror Ball Trophy sat next to them on the stage. Without all the stage lights it seemed smaller, less significant. She could hardly believe she had been so nervous about the announcement of the winners. It all seemed like such child's play once she'd taken a step back. Bellamy followed her gaze, his full lips twisting into a small smile.

"Thanks, Princess."

"It doesn't seem like much now," she sighed.

The heat of him soaked into her as he leaned against her side, his dark curls dragging across her cheek. "I'm not just talking about the damn trophy."

Clarke peered up at him, close enough to see the different shades of brown mixing in his eyes. He was so much to her. Each facet of him was astounding and precious. She let her eyes scan his face, memorizing the contours and imperfections, before replying, "I know."

"Ahem." Raven didn't even attempt subtlety as she cleared her throat. "I believe we have an after party to attend. There's quite a lot of worry that they can't get the party started until the guests of honor arrive. I've had like twenty text messages from Finn asking when we'll be around."

Clarke dropped her head to hands. She had completely blanked the after party that was going to be hosted at Myles Starrmann's house in Bell Air. "Okay. Do I at least have time to get changed?"

Raven rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying we have to be there instantly, Griffin. I mean look at all of us… we definitely need to change."

She was right. Bellamy was still shirtless; a good look for him, but not one Clarke was interested in sharing with others. Clarke, Octavia and Raven were all dressed in sparkly Latin dresses that barely kissed their thighs. Unless they wanted to try their hand at street corner prostitution, they all needed to put on something less overwhelmingly skimpy and glittery.

Clarke brushed at her drying eyes, ignoring the streaks of eye makeup she was leaving behind. "Do we have time to head home and shower?"

Bellamy exchanged a quick look with Octavia before nodding. "Yeah, but we need to be quick about it. How about you and O head home and I'll just shower here after I take of a few administrative things. You have a way to get there, Reyes?"

"Finn said he'd give me a ride home if I could find a ride there." Raven answered, eyeing Bellamy with an expression Clarke didn't quite appreciate. Clarke was under no delusions that he would fall for anything and she didn't really think Raven would try anything, but she didn't even want the opportunity to arise.

"How about you come with us?" Octavia offered, noticing Clarke's hesitation and solving the problem in one fell swoop. Clarke was going to miss O when they moved to Denver. She had a brilliant way of seeing trouble a mile away and making the appropriate course correction so subtly that no one noticed what was happening.

"Sounds good, little Blake."

Octavia expression was pure venom, but she managed to bite her tongue and merely motioned towards the dressing rooms. Bellamy pulled Clarke into a chaste kiss that despite its innocence left her lips burning for more before he turned toward the hallway leading toward the male pros dressing room. Clarke watched him retreat into the darkness before following Octavia.

As she caught up to the slender brunette, Octavia whispered, "So help me God, Clarke, I am going to end up killing her before this night is done."

"Raven's not so bad, O. She's more bark than bite," Clarke countered.

"Have you heard her?"

Clarke supposed Raven and Octavia were destined not to be the best of friends. The incident with Bellamy had cemented Octavia's dislike of Raven weeks ago and the dark woman's lethal tongue did nothing to ingratiate her with the younger Blake. She gave Octavia what she hoped was a sympathetic smile and not a grimace. "Just ignore most of what she says. You'll survive."

"Thanks." The look Octavia sent her was anything but grateful, but Clarke hardly cared. She was already emotionally exhausted and not particularly looking forward to her own victory party. If Raven and Octavia had an axe to grind with each other, they could do it far away from her. Clarke had bigger fish to fry, thank you very much.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: "There's daggers in men's smiles" - Macbeth**

"Geez, are we sure we're not at effing Disneyland?" Raven muttered as they stared up at the mansion in front of them. Clarke only just managed to keep her jaw from dropping to the ground. There were turrets. Fucking turrets just like Sleeping Beauty's castle.

"Damn." Octavia echoed behind Clarke. "I should have held out for my own personal castle…"

"Who knew being a cute kid could be so damn lucrative?" Raven shook her head in disbelief before leveling a grin at Clarke. "Time to make your entrance, Princess. Who do you want to be? Sleeping Beauty? Cinderella? Oh, I know. You're definitely Elsa!"

"Are you implying that I'm a cold-hearted ice queen?" Clarke replied, an amused smile tugging at her lips. She'd always preferred Belle or Ariel, but as a blonde she'd spent her childhood dressing up as Aurora or Cinderella more often than not.

Raven cackled quietly next to her. "Well, if the shoe fits, Princess. But really, if we're being honest I'm pretty sure that distinction belongs to Lexa."

"Raven, she really isn't that horrible." Clarke sighed. She knew it was unlikely she could change the dark woman's mind on this matter, but it made her uncomfortable that Raven thought so little of Lexa. Sure her ex-girlfriend was standoffish and terse, but she also cared deeply about people. Lexa might not let her emotions show, but that didn't mean she didn't care. Explaining these complexities to Raven, however, was nearly impossible.

"Whatever, Clarke." Raven gave her a long-suffering stare before turning to walk toward the entrance to the house.

The ground shook under their feet, the music vibrating the entire yard around the house. As they got closer Clarke noticed a number of windows near ground level that looked out over a lush green yard. She narrowed her eyes, squinting into the twilight. "Is that a tennis court?"

Octavia peered over her shoulder. "Yeah. And I'm pretty sure there's also a swimming pool and a basketball court. Clearly I picked the wrong profession."

"Yes, if only you could transport back in time and wind up in LA being a cute kid in Pampers commercials." Raven's tone was biting, but she had a wistful look in her eyes that made Clarke think she just might agree with Octavia.

Octavia glared at Raven until Clarke surged into the space between the two of them, linking arms with each woman and pulling them toward the house. "I just want to get this evening over with, so I figure the sooner we show up, the sooner we can leave."

"You just want to go screw Blake, Griffin," Raven pointed out, but didn't resist the pull of Clarke's arm.

"Gross, Reyes. That's my brother you're talking about."

Raven rolled her eyes at Octavia. "You have to know the two of them are fucking like-"

"Raven!" Clarke interrupted, nearly choking over the name. "Octavia does not need to be reminded that I'm sleeping with her brother. We all live together. Please don't make it any more awkward than it already is. Thank you."

Octavia sent her a grateful look and Raven remained mercifully quiet the rest of the way to the house. By the time they finally entered the mansion, Clarke could barely hear herself think. The pounding beat of the music was louder than anything she'd ever experienced, each drumbeat rattling through her bones. Clarke had never been one for parties and this was no exception. She had no idea what was expected of her, so she stuck to Octavia and Raven like glue, nodding to the few people that offered congratulations or sent her welcome smiles.

Most of the cast, crew and pros had already gathered, making her wonder how long Bellamy was going to be. She felt naked without him by her side and the overwhelming nature of the party was not helping. Seeming to sense her discomfort, Octavia steered them away from the living room where Jasper and Monty had set up the DJ station and into a small alcove off of the extravagant dining room. The beat was still oppressive here, the chandeliers shaking precariously above their heads, but Clarke could at least hear Octavia speaking to her.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Clarke motioned toward the flashing lights and throbbing speakers. "Not really used to all of this."

Octavia nodded, glancing over to Raven. "I'm going to go find some drinks and hopefully Lincoln. You got this covered?"

For once Raven didn't have a snarky reply, her mouth curved down in a small frown at she nodded at Octavia. Clarke ignored the probing look being sent her direction, choosing instead to watch the pool party visible through the bay windows of the alcove.

"Clarke."

She slid her eyes back to Raven, meeting dark chocolate pools of worry. "I'm fine, really. It's just been a really intense day and I'm not exactly in the mood to knock back a few Jello shots while trying to channel my inner twenty-year old."

"Understandable. We don't have to stay for too long. As soon as Blake gets here I'm sure you can get going. You are the champions after all… I don't think anyone is going to judge how you want to spend your evening." Raven waved at someone approaching from behind Clarke. "And here's my man. I guess you two haven't formally met?"

Finn now stood between Clarke and Raven, his long hair flying haphazardly about his face and cheeks flushed from exertion. He gave Clarke a friendly grin as he extended a hand. "Finn Collins. I don't think we've been properly introduced. Raven won't shut up about how awesome you are though…"

"Finn." If Raven was trying to sound annoyed, she failed, as the word came out coated in long-suffering fondness.

Clarke couldn't help a small chuckle as she took his hand. "Clarke Griffin. Good to finally meet you."

Finn gripped her hand for a moment longer than necessary and a strange feeling flashed through Clarke, leaving her yearning for Bellamy. Finn hadn't done anything wrong, but Clarke couldn't shake off the strangeness of the moment. She glanced up at him again, studying his face for any sign of what had passed between them, but he was smiling at Raven as if she was the only one in the room. Sighing she turned away from them. The exhaustion was clearly hitting her harder than she'd thought.

Scanning the crowd she spotted Octavia and Lincoln at the other end of the dining room. They seemed relaxed as they leaned against each other, smiles painting their faces. Octavia appeared to have forgotten her mission to get drinks, but Clarke could hardly blame her. The way Octavia lit up when she saw Lincoln was explanation enough. Clarke was glad for them. Octavia deserved someone who treated her like Lincoln did and considering Bellamy hadn't murdered the Broncos kicker, Clarke was sure he approved, even if he would never come out and say the words to Lincoln's face.

She turned back to the alcove, catching Finn and Raven mid lip lock. If that wasn't a sign that she was the third wheel, nothing was. Bellamy had promised he'd be there as soon as possible, but apparently his retirement announcement had elicited a mile of paperwork from the producers that just couldn't wait until the next morning. Clarke was pretty sure they were trying to talk him out of the decision, but had every confidence that he would stay the course. He believed in their partnership even more than she did and there was no way some TV executives would change his mind. Clarke just wished he'd hurry his ass up. It was starting to get undeniably awkward and she wasn't sure how many more make out sessions she could endure before being scarred for life.

Raven came up for air at the same time Clarke let out a frustrated humph. She narrowed her dark eyes at Clarke and took a step back from Finn. "Shit, sorry. How about dancing? We can all dance, right? You even have a trophy to prove it."

Clarke wanted to refuse, but she didn't want to be stuck staring at them making out either and heading out on her own was too intimidating given the sheer amount of flashing lights, pulsating speakers and drunk cast members. She settled for nodding and trailing reluctantly behind Raven and Finn as they made their way to the living room, which was more nightclub than living area now that Monty and Jasper had cleared away the furniture and finished the strobe light display.

Raven grabbed her hand, twirling her into the mob. "Come on, Clarke! Live a little!"

Pushing her reservations aside, Clarke focused on the thrumming beat of the music, letting it reverberate through her as Raven moved against her. She could do this. Dancing was her escape and just because Bellamy wasn't beside her didn't mean she couldn't lose herself in the beat. Soon she was swaying against Raven with abandon, throwing her loose blonde hair in wild patterns as they gyrated together. Clarke had never thought of Raven in a particularly sexual manner and even as they moved together, the connection was more about the play of movement than attraction. She appreciated the feel of Raven's dark skin against her own where her tank top had ridden up, but there was none of the electricity she felt when Bellamy's hands caressed her body. Dancing with him was a whirlwind of emotion and sensation, each sense heightened, each movement a symphony in itself. Dancing with Raven was nice, like a warm afternoon in a sunny meadow. It held none of the ferocity of her experience with Bellamy and for that Clarke was grateful. She was emotionally drained.

Suddenly a different hand was on her hip, caressing the edge of her jeans and jarring Clarke from her trance. Cold tendrils shot across her skin as she swung around to find Finn standing behind her, a startled expression on his face.

"Clarke, sorry. I just thought…"

He trailed off into silence as Clarke stared mutely back at him. His touch had unsettled her, made her want to rush outside into the warm night for a breath of fresh air. Raven was still dancing next to her, unaware of the incident taking shape. Clarke surveyed the room, a chill running down her spine as she spotted Dax Marshall staring straight at her from behind Raven. Whatever her mixed feelings about Finn, she'd take him over Dax any day.

Finn looked genuinely upset and Clarke couldn't help but feel bad for reacting so poorly. He'd never given her any reason not to trust him and Raven seemed to think he was a good guy, so Clarke should probably give him the benefit of the doubt. Her emotions were all over the place tonight and she was likely taking out some of her confusion on him.

She shook her head at Finn, plastering what she hoped was an apologetic smile on her face. "Don't worry. I'm just not feeling it tonight. I'm going to try and find some peace and quiet, okay? Let Bellamy know I went downstairs when he arrives?"

He nodded, some of the distress leaving his boyish features. "Sure. Take care, Clarke."

"Thanks, I'll see you guys later," Clarke called over her shoulder as she hurriedly departed the dance floor, searching for the staircase she'd spotted earlier in the night.

As soon the stairs came into sight, Clarke heaved a sigh of relief. She usually didn't mind a good party, even though they weren't her number one relaxation choice, but tonight her head was in knots and she desperately needed some time alone to sort through it all.

Clarke glanced around as she descended into the quieter ground level, noting several dark hallways leading away from the staircase. Laughter from the yard and the main floor filtered down to her, but she couldn't make out individual conversations. The strong beat from the DJ setup in the living room vibrated the floorboards above and below her, but had dissipated enough that she could hear herself think again. No one else was on the lower level and Clarke concluded that the living room and the pool were the epicenters of the party. That suited her just fine.

The awkward dancing moment with Finn had been surprisingly upsetting. She'd met him in passing several times before and had expected the same easy companionship she'd settled into with Raven, but something about him had thrown her off. Or she was going really, truly crazy, which was certainly possible. In all likelihood the whole incident was merely a product of her overactive imagination and the stress of the day. What she really needed was a nice hot bath followed by a luxurious massage from her amazing boyfriend. If only Bellamy would get to the damn party.

She sighed, running a hand over the dark leather couch that sat at the edge of an entertainment area furnished with the largest wall mounted television Clarke had ever seen and a foosball table in the corner. She meandered through the main room, flicking on one of the hallway lights before randomly choosing a corridor. The throbbing music faded even further as she wandered down the darkened hall, pushing open the last door. A Pilates studio greeted her, with several reformers and mats spread across a wooden floor. Maybe she should run through a bit of Yoga or just take a nap on one of the mats until Bellamy came and rescued her? She had no idea how to even exist in her own head right now. The exhilaration of the win had faded into lingering sadness that the experience was over. They'd been so caught up in the competition that she hadn't had a chance to step back and really see how amazing the experience had been for her. Just eleven weeks and she no longer recognized herself in the mirror.

The squeak of a floorboard had her spinning around with a relieved sigh, expecting Bellamy or even Lincoln, Octavia, Raven or Finn. Instead she faced the sinister smile of Dax Marshall. Shit. He must have followed her when she left the dance floor. She'd been too caught up in her discomfort to even consider that Dax might hassle her again.

She swallowed heavily, tasting acid. Bellamy's voice echoed through her mind, Don't fall for his charm. He has nearly a dozen assault and battery charges against him. She fought to keep her breathing even and her eyes clear of emotion as the daunting reality of her situation swept over her.

Dax stood between Clarke and the door and the uncompromising thump of the music made any attempts at being heard pointless. Clarke searched her peripheral vision, noting two windows behind her, both leading to the side of the house opposite the pool party. That didn't matter; they could still act as an escape route if Dax turned out to have more in mind than a little harassment. Not that Clarke truly believed anything would happen. Even now, standing across from him in a darkened basement, she couldn't imagine anything other than a heated exchange between them. But Bellamy's whispered words lingered, making her take stock of her surrounding with a more critical eye. A rack with several five lbs. weights sat below the windows. While they wouldn't be terribly effective in a fight, they probably could break glass just fine. Not that she was planning on breaking anything.

Just to be safe she angled her body away from Dax and began to edge toward the windows, trying to be as casual as possible. His continued sneer sent another round of adrenaline coursing through her system. Why the hell wasn't he saying anything? She swallowed deeply, tasting metal. This was getting more questionable by the second. If push came to shove, there was only Clarke and a set of five-pound weights against a man that could kill her with his bare hands. She sent a silent prayer out to Bellamy to hurry his ass up.

Her tongue felt like rubber as she spoke, breaking the unnerving silence. "Dax. What can I do for you?"

He stalked closer to her, light from the hallway casting his shadow deep into the room. His eyes were reflective pools of cold steel and his lips curved into a ghastly sneer that sent her heart plunging to her feet. "Well…if it isn't Blake's latest conquest. I have to admit I was little surprised you turned strumpet so fast, Griffin."

Clarke burned in righteous indignation, the anger propelling her beyond the anxiety. Where the hell did he get off talking her like that? Despite the wave of ire igniting her blood, she forced her expression to remain neutral. Maybe if he saw he wasn't getting a rise out of her, he'd leave it well enough alone. And maybe she'd turn into one of those mice from Cinderella. She took a shuddering breath and shuffled another step toward the weights. Her good options were fading at an alarming rate. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, Marshall."

"Come now," Dax chided, his tone as frigid as artic midnight. "We all know Blake's a whore. I just didn't peg you as easy too. But then, I suppose I should have known. It's always the quiet ones, right? You're just begging for it under that prim and proper façade." He paused, his steely glare raking across her form, leaving a trail of disgust in its wake. She stared at him wide eyed, just beginning to realize how unfortunate her situation might truly be, as he took another step forward, effectively cornering her. "Does Blake make you feel dirty in all the right ways, Princess? Or maybe it's Collins that does it for you… I saw the way you jumped away from him tonight. Blake already not enough for you, Princess?"

The nickname coming off his lips was repulsive, twisting the word into something foul. Clarke choked as bile flooded her mouth. She glanced discretely at the window beside her. The chills running down her spine and the panic fluttering through her mind left no room for argument. She needed to get out of this right now, before something unfathomable happened. Dax was clearly deranged, but he wasn't stupid. She needed to distract him, just for a few seconds, or else this was all going to a hell Clarke had no intention of ever visiting.

"This is hardly a conversation I want to be having with you, Dax. Don't you have anywhere else to be?" She tried to sound annoyed, not alarmed.

"I can give you something that Blake can't. Doesn't the Princess want to come out of her castle and play? Blake was just the beginning… imagine what I could do for you, Princess."

He said the words as if he truly believed them, which made it so much worse. He wasn't just threatening her for fun. In a moment of chilling clarity she understood she was his prey. This was a horrible, deranged game to him. And there was no one coming for her.

Clarke inhaled deeply through her nose, feeling the oxygen rush to her limbs. She needed to be calm now. No matter how much she wanted to break down and cry or grovel or beg she needed to keep her shit together. The sickening dread twisted her stomach, but she pushed it down, filling her veins with steel.

She moved without hesitation, her right arm shooting out to blindly grab the weight behind her. She turned, not sparing a moment to notice if Dax reacted, and swung the miniature barbell through the window. The shattering glass was deafening, but she knew no one upstairs could hear the sound. Clarke swept the weight over the sill, clearing it of jagged edges before bracing a leg on the weight stand and pushing up to crawl through. The window was waist height, not a difficult distance for her to surmount but her jeans snagged on the fragmented glass, costing her precious time. The lawn was only a foot drop from the sill, so she clawed at the grass, digging her fingers into the soil to gain purchase.

"Oh no you don't, Princess." Dax hollered as he barreled toward the window. She was nearly free now; just her left pants leg caught on the frame. She could hear the fabric ripping and prayed it would fray fast enough. A second later his wrist was around her ankle and she was being dragged across a mixture of shards and grass. Her face and arms stung, but she ignored the pain, hands searching blindly for a jagged shard beneath her. Her right hand connected with a particularly vicious fragment and she twisted around, slashing toward the arm pulling her back. He growled in pain and his grip loosened, but not enough to for her to spring free. Clarke hissed as more slivers bit into her skin, but didn't waver as she kicked with both feet while slashing higher, aiming for his chest and face. Her fist connected with flesh as she stabbed wildly upwards, the glass sinking in with sickening ease. His grip on her ankle abruptly slackened and Clarke shot to her feet and ran, not daring to check behind her.

She dashed around the corner of the house, trusting her instincts that she was heading for the driveway. She risked a look down at her forearms; they glistened darkly in the dim light and droplets of foreign blood rained heavily from her fingers. The sting of each shard embedded in her flesh assaulted her senses, but she didn't dare stop moving.

"Clarke?" Bellamy's voice was a deep rasp of fear.

He stood in front of his black jeep, which was parked beneath one of the few streetlights dotting the roadside. Clarke glanced back up the hill at the house, barely visible around a bend in the road. She hadn't realized she'd covered such a great distance.

"Clarke!" Bellamy moved out of the way of the streetlight, allowing the yellow glow to fully illuminate her. She watched the tendrils of crimson run across her skin in detached horror. She moved a hand up to her face and flinched as she came in contact with a myriad of other cuts.

She glanced at Bellamy. He his eyes were blown wide in horror and his mouth worked silently, as if he had no idea how to begin. He moved to touch her, but hesitated abruptly. She stood frozen before him, before murmuring, "It's okay."

Her words catapulted him into action. "Oh god, Clarke. It is not okay." He turned toward the Jeep, unlocking the doors. "Can you sit down? Is there glass on both sides?"

She gauged her pain levels. "I think there's more on my front than my back since that's the side I was on when he dragged me. I can probably sit."

He stiffened at her words, his eyes flashing darkly as he swung to face her. "Who? What the hell happened up there, Clarke?"

She watched the blood drip on the pavement from her right pinky. Bellamy's stare weighed down upon her. "Dax. Dax attacked me."

He growled, the sound primal and terrifying. "I'll kill him."

"I'm pretty sure I already did."

He stared at her in stunned silence, his jaw slack. His darkly tempestuous eyes searched her face for the truth behind her statement. Finding no deceit in her expression, he abruptly turned away, burying his face between his hands. "Shit. Fuck! Shit, fuck, motherfucker..." The litany continued for a few seconds before he faced her, panting and disheveled.

"We have to call 911." The logical part of her brain was returning. As much as she needed medical care right now, she had no life threatening injuries. It was more important to do this right.

"What?" He stared at her, incomprehension distorting his handsome features. "You need help. We need to go to the hospital."

"I'll be fine… it's just a lot of minor cuts. I think I stabbed him in the neck, Bellamy. We need to call 911." She shuddered as she remembered the ease with which the shard had sunk into his flesh and the warm gush of blood she had felt trickling over her fingertips. She had no desire for him to be alive, but the doctor in her insisted that she at least do the right thing and call an ambulance.

"Fine," he ground out, clearly hating the idea. "But the instant they get here, we get you medical help, okay? You are not fine right now. You are bleeding everywhere I look and you are scaring the shit out of me. Okay?"

She swayed on her feet, causing Bellamy to scramble closer to her. He placed a tentative hand on her shoulder and when she didn't immediately react, he moved closer, supporting her more fully with an arm around her shoulders. She was feeling woozier than before. Probably due to the continuous blood loss and the adrenaline wearing off.

Bellamy pulled out his cell phone with his free hand and dialed 911. His voice was calm, but severe as he explained the situation to the dispatcher. After a minute or so of succinct answers, he put the phone back in his pocket. "They'll be here in less than ten minutes. I told them to meet us at the house, but we can wait here until they come." He paused, staring down at her bloody arms. "Is it safe to start picking out the pieces?"

She stared at one of the nastier slivers protruding from her right palm. It was probably fine to start removing the broken glass, medically speaking, but she didn't want to alter her condition until the police came. She felt Dax's blood running through her fingers again and shuddered, bile rising in her throat. "Let's just wait for the police."

"Will you at least sit down? I don't like how pale you are right now, Princess." The word was spoken with its usual affection, but her reaction was instantaneous. Before she could even process what was happening, she'd backed away from him with a keening whimper. His gaze darkened as he raised his hands slowly in surrender before taking a cautious step toward her. When she didn't flinch or shy away, he closed the gap between them. His face hovered inches from hers as his dark eyes swept over her face. "Clarke." His voice was a deep murmur, barely audible even in the silence of the abandoned road. "Clarke. What happened?"

She turned away from his searching gaze, unable to bear the agony behind his dark stare. "I was on the ground level, not quite a basement, but not where the party was going on. Myles has a Pilates studio." She could see flashing lights approaching in the distance. "He found me there. Said some really nasty things. I knew I only had one escape route, the window. So I took it, but my jeans snagged on some of the leftover glass and he caught hold of me. So I did what I had to."

"Clarke…" he broke off, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry. I should have been there for you."

"You were. You warned me about him before you even liked me. That warning gave me the extra moments I needed tonight," she admitted. The fire engine was upon them now. She put up no fight as Bellamy hoisted her up and clutched her tightly to him as they made their way to meet the first responders.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: "We will make amends ere long" - Midsummer Night's Dream**

Clarke stared down at the bandages wrapped around her hands. The brilliant white of the gauze stood out even against her pale skin in the dim light of the bedroom lamp. She turned her hands over and used her left hand to push back the covering from her right. A Frankenstein-like row of stiches marched across her right palm. Most of the cuts had been superficial, but the hand she had used to drive the glass shard into Dax had suffered more extensive damage. The doctors assured her of a full recovery, but she wouldn't be writing essays any time soon.

Her forearms and knees were wrapped in a similar fashion and her face had been bandaged where the cuts had been too deep to leave exposed. The brief glimpses she'd seen of herself in the mirror reminded her of a bombing victim in some third world country. They had given her pain medication, but she hadn't taken any since leaving the hospital. The pain was a reminder that she was alive and he wasn't. Dax had been pronounced dead at the scene, having bled out in the time she was with Bellamy. While the knowledge that he would not be able to come after her again was a balm for the fear festering inside, she was unable to make peace with his death. It was one thing to watch death on a movie screen or even in a hospital. It was an entirely different thing to be the hand that dealt the blow.

Clarke pulled her knees to her chest, ignoring the stinging in her arms as she clutched at her pale blue pajama pants. How in the world was she going to make it through this? Every challenge she had ever faced seemed insignificant and childish. What was a disagreement with her mother or even the loss of her father compared with becoming a murderer?

"Hey," Bellamy's deep voice jarred her focus, his face swimming into existence in front of her. Had he always been there? She couldn't say for certain. The whole night had become a horrifying blur. "We'll get through this."

His dark eyes held such suffering that she had to look away. She was an epicenter of pain right now and yet watching him ache was nearly more than she could endure. "I'm not sure I can."

"Together." His strong hand gripped her battered chin, gently forcing her to meet his distressed gaze. "I can't claim to know what you're going through right now, but I do know that the only way we're getting through this is together. I'm not going anywhere and neither are you."

She wanted to crawl away from him, to scream that they hadn't done anything together, that she alone was the one with blood on her hands, but she fought against that beast. The old Clarke believed in isolation, in solving your problems in miserable solitude. This Clarke was stronger. This Clarke understood that Bellamy Blake was her salvation and she wasn't about to turn her back on him. She stared into his face, broken but still oh so beautiful. "How?"

He lightly caressed her cheek, his expression tearing her soul into tiny pieces of despair. "I have no idea. But together, okay?"

Clarke ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach and leaned into him, savoring the warmth of him and the familiar scent of sandalwood. "Okay."

He pressed a kiss to her temple, cognizant of her wounds. "Let's try and get some rest." She stiffened at his words, not quite ready to face the world of her subconscious. "Clarke. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe."

Reluctantly, she slipped under the sheet, keeping a hand locked safely within Bellamy's grasp as she shifted to the least painful position. Bellamy reached across her to switch off the light and room was washed in a dark blue melancholy that pervaded every pore, pulling her toward infinite darkness. She shifted uncomfortably and curled closer to Bellamy. Soon the only sound was the regular rhythm of his breathing, the sound harsh against the stillness of the night. Clarke concentrated on the regularity of his breaths, counting them like sheep. One. Two. Three. Ten. One hundred. Five hundred. As the count climbed into the thousands her own breathing began to slow and she slipped from consciousness.

S~*~S

She was screaming. The screeches tore from Clarke's throat with violence she had never experienced before, leaving it raw. Something was touching her, but she couldn't tell what it was. Her focus had eclipsed into a sense of absolute terror.

Suddenly everything went cold. She blinked in confusion, water dripping from her eyelashes and running down her face. "What?"

"Oh thank god." Octavia stood in front of her, an empty bowl hanging from her right hand.

"What happened?"

"Nightmare," Bellamy replied shortly. His voice was gruff with sleep and his eyes bounced wildly across her face. His dark curls stuck up in every direction and his freckles stood harshly out against his unusually pallid skin. His lips were torn open, blood trickling from teeth inflicted wounds. Clarke swallowed deeply. Shit. Whatever had Bellamy so spooked could not be good.

"Tell me what happened," Clarke demanded. Octavia turned her concerned gaze on Bellamy. They stayed locked in a silent staring contest for nearly a minute before he heaved a deep sigh and nodded.

"You wouldn't stop screaming. Not for like a minute or something, but for nearly fifteen minutes." Octavia spoke the words quietly, as if afraid any louder and Clarke would shatter before her eyes.

Clarke swallowed again, examining the soreness of her throat. "That explains that."

"Clarke…"

Bellamy was staring at her with a desperation she had never seen before. This wasn't him wishing they could escape moral boundaries or needing her in a way he wasn't allowed. This was Bellamy scared. Not scared of losing her, but just plain scared for her.

Clarke sighed, meeting his distressed brown orbs. Pieces of the dream had started filtering back to her. This was over her head. She'd never suffered such a traumatic event before and despite reading about PTSD in medical school, she really had no idea what to expect.

"I had a dream that I was in a river of blood." The words sounded foreign on her lips, as if she was living someone else's life. "And then Dax showed up. He told me it was all for me. Then he bled out right in front of me and died again."

"Shit, Clarke, that's messed up." Octavia settled on the edge of the bed and reached out to grip one of Clarke's hands in her own.

"I know." Clarke stared down at their joined hands. Octavia's tan skin contrasted starkly with the pale gauze. "I just feel so damn guilty. I'm sure this is my brain's super shitty way of letting me know."

Bellamy shifted next to her. "You have nothing to feel guilty about. He was attacking you… trying to…" He couldn't finish the sentence and the words hung between them, heavy with pernicious meaning. She could guess what would have happened if she hadn't been able to make it to the window and fight back. That train of thought led to nowhere good and Clarke had avoided even considering the possibilities until now.

"I know," she whispered with dark understanding. She turned to stare into Bellamy's eyes, wishing she could make him understand, knowing that it was impossible. They were different. Bellamy was sensitive, but not like Clarke. He wouldn't see the logic in her guilt. "I know. But I still killed him. I put a piece of glass in his neck and ran away. He died because of me. It doesn't matter if he was one of the good guys or the bad guys. That's not something I'm just going to get over, Bell."

"I get that. I know you, Clarke. I just wish you didn't have to go through this, that you could see that he just isn't worth it." He scrubbed his hand over his face, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. "I know that's not you, though. You feel for everyone, even when maybe you shouldn't."

Clarke breathed a sigh of relief. "I just need you to let me do this my way."

"Fine, but I can't live with bloodcurdling screams every night." He broke their stare, the muscles of his face contorting into lines of suffering. His next words were whispered, nearly too soft for Clarke to hear sitting beside him. "I just can't handle that."

Bellamy made a fair point, but Clarke had no idea how to give him a guarantee that the nightmares would pass. "I can't promise anything."

"I just want to make sure you're going to be okay." His teeth worried his full bottom lip, drawing fresh blood. "Shit, Clarke. I shouldn't be asking any of this of you. I know you can't help how you react. You just scared the shit out of me and I have no idea how to make it better."

She stared at him for a moment, studying the turmoil in his eyes. As much as she was suffering, he was hurting just as much. Clarke understood how helpless he must feel. Bellamy had been unable to defend her at the moment of attack and now he had to sit by passively and watch the consequences whittle away at her. Action was in his nature, so this impotence must be nearly unbearable.

The muscles of his jaw twitched frantically with tension and his eyes were deep wells of pain, but he wasn't punching mirrors or raging against an untouchable foe. Instead Bellamy was fighting all of his instincts to be the man she needed right now. Looking at Bellamy now, Clarke knew this wasn't just the passing of two ships in the night. They weren't going to have a whirlwind romance and then let it all go as they moved on with their lives. Bellamy Blake wasn't here because he wanted her to dance with him or because of their epic sexual chemistry. He was sitting here beside her because he needed her. Their souls had intertwined and there was no fissioning them.

She had always known how deep her connection with him ran, but this trauma had wrested it to the forefront. Often she had wondered, even worried, that Bellamy was only with her because he had something to gain through their partnership. And, of course, he did have plenty to gain, but that wasn't what held them together. Somehow over the last eleven weeks, they had tempered their connection into something much stronger than mutual desire and respect. Clarke tightened her grip his hand, relishing the feel of his calloused palm beneath her fingers. She might have lost so much already, but she wouldn't trade any of her losses for what she had gained with Bellamy. Did that make her a horrible person? She wasn't sure, but choosing Bellamy wasn't a matter of free will, it was a matter of existence.

Clarke leaned into him, ignoring the discomfort of the movement. "I'm going to be okay, Bellamy. Somehow, I'm going to be okay. Like you said, together."

"Hey," Octavia rose from the corner of the bed. Clarke nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the younger Blake's voice. She had been so caught up in her conversation with Bellamy that Octavia had fallen off her radar. "I'm going to head back to my room. Let me know if either of you need anything."

Clarke nodded and Bellamy murmured a soft affirmative as his sister left the room, closing the door gently behind her. The stillness in the wake of Octavia's departure stretched on for infinite seconds before Bellamy shattered it, gathering Clarke in his arms. He took care not to put pressure on her perforated skin as he cocooned himself around her, his warmth soaking through her. She melted into him with a deep sigh.

"I love you."

His voice was a mere murmur, but the words bathed her in warmth. Come what may, she had Bellamy by her side. Together they could surmount this too.

S~*~S

Clarke awoke to the sound of pigeons cooing outside Bellamy's bedroom and muffled voices by the pool. The rest of the night had passed in dreamless peace or at least she didn't recall having any further nightmares. Bellamy's side of the bed was cold, but a glance at the clock explained that. It was nearly noon and as exhausted as he was, she had never known him to sleep past ten. Something about the life of a dancer demanding the utmost discipline. Sighing, she pushed her way out of the bed, missing the safety of the soft cotton sheet as soon as her bare feet landed on the wooden floor.

She rummaged around in Bellamy's drawers for a few minutes before remembering that most of her clothes still resided in the guest bedroom. Clarke stared at the door for a moment before shrugging. Whoever was visiting, there were definitely voices other than Bellamy and Octavia's, would have to deal with her wearing Bellamy's clothes. The sun was shining brightly into the room so she opted for a white t-shirt with BLAKE in bold letters across the front and a pair of black shorts that fell to her knees. Bellamy wasn't that much taller than she was, but men's clothing didn't do the short shorts thing. Not knowing exactly what to expect by the pool she put on her bra from last night. She had no desire to run into some police detective in only a white t-shirt, no matter how much she wasn't interested in facing the day.

She forwent socks or shoes, shuffling barefoot into the hallway to wash her face in the bathroom and attempt to look somewhat human. No one was in the kitchen or the living room, so she continued out to the pool. One look at the woman sitting in a lawn chair next to Bellamy had her freezing on the spot.

"Mom?"

Abigail Griffin was out of her chair and wrapped around Clarke in two seconds flat. "Oh my god. Honey, I'm so sorry."

Clarke struggled to breath against her mother's fierce grip. "Mom… oxygen."

Her mother pulled back from her, taking in the bandages littering Clarke's skin for the first time. "Clarke…"

"It looks worse than it is. I only got stiches in my hand." She waved her right hand in front of her face. He mother's concerned expression didn't fade. "How did you even get here?"

"Bellamy," Abigail admitted softly. "He called me last night while you were at the hospital. He told me that whatever differences might be between us, you needed me right now. I booked a jet immediately and got in this morning."

Clarke stared at Bellamy. He dark eyes were defiant, giving no apology for his actions. Clarke found she wasn't surprised by his decision. He had been the one trying to convince her to patch things up with her mother. He might have been upset enough to punch a mirror during their last confrontation, but his priority had always been her happiness. A wave of affection swelled through her as she met his dark stare. "Thank you."

He nodded and rose from his chair, pausing beside her. "I'll give you two a moment alone." One last enigmatic glance at Abigail and the slide of his lips across Clarke's cheek and he was gone.

Her mother motioned toward the lawn chairs. "Do you mind?"

"Sure," Clarke replied, padding over to the nearest chair and sinking down. She was grateful the shards of glass had only chewed up the front of her body. Not being able to sit for weeks would have sucked.

"So, I owe you an apology. Probably more than one…"

"Mom."

"Let me get this all out there, Clarke." Her mother had perched on the edge of the other chair. Her hair was loose, a rare occasion since she had ascended to the Vice Presidency. Instead of the usual two-piece pantsuit, she wore an old t-shirt from their shared Alma Matter, Ark College, and light blue Bermuda shorts. Clarke hadn't seen her so casually dressed since childhood.

Abigail leaned toward Clarke as she steepled her fingers in front of her, bringing the tips of her fingers up to rest on her angled jaw. "We've had a bad couple of years. Maybe even a bad couple of decades. I know that's mostly my fault. I'm the parent here after all." She paused, her luminescent eyes scanning across Clarke's face. "I realize that I put my professional goals above everything, even my family. I thought I could do it all, but quite clearly I couldn't.

"Losing your father was paralyzing for me, Clarke. I had no idea how to deal with my life partner being ripped away from me, so I just shut it all down. I know now that decision didn't just hurt me; it hurt you too. You had just lost your dad and all I did was try to be the best Vice President I could be. I never stopped to think how I was taking away your mother too."

"Mom…" Clarke tried again, but her mother shook her head. Clarke bit her tongue and allowed Abigail to continue. They had never sat down and talked like this. Ever. If her mother wanted to extend the first olive branch, Clarke was not going to stand in her way.

"I missed so much of your life, honey. I was trying to do the right thing for our family, but I'm not sure I did." Her mother sighed, the expression on her face more world weary and exhausted than Clarke had ever seen. Abigail prided herself on not showing weakness, so this breakdown of her façade was arresting. "I wanted to make the world a better place, Clarke. I thought government service was the right path to take, that I could really help people. And I have helped, but I didn't realize the extent of the sacrifices I was going to make."

It was the first time her mother had talked about why she chose politics. Clarke had assumed that she wanted the recognition that came with her career decision and never considered that her mother might actually be trying to help make the world a better place. Her father had often mentioned something about Abigail's bright-eyed idealism sending her on a path through Hell, but Clarke had never seriously considered his comments.

"I'm sorry, Clarke. For not being the mother you deserve."

The brilliant sunlight glinted off the tear tracks forming on her mother's cheeks. Clarke had no idea what to say. It felt like her whole family life had been an elaborate house of cards and her mother had finally ripped away the final support. The woman she knew as her mother had nothing in common with this emotional wreck in front of her. The Abigail Griffin who raised her would never apologize, let alone feel guilty enough to cry. She had often wondered what her father had seen in her mother. Now she understood. He had fallen in love with the woman in front of her, not the political maven etched from steel.

"Clarke, please say something…"

"Why? Why now? You could have told me this any time." She knew the answer the question, but she wanted to make her mother admit that the only reason she had come was Clarke's attack, that only her daughter being put in mortal peril had made her rethink their relationship.

Abigail's mouth twisted in frustration. "I know it's pathetic I didn't realize we needed to talk until Bellamy called me. I can't say that it didn't take a frantic phone call from my daughter's boyfriend to change my mind. I wish I could."

"So you admit he's my boyfriend now."

Her mother's lips pursed and she stared at Clarke with desolate eyes. "I am so very sorry for how I have treated Bellamy."

"I hope you've already apologized." Clarke doubted Bellamy would let her mother into his house without clearing the air, but she wanted to make sure that her mother's derisive comments were a thing of the past.

"I did." She paused to smile at Clarke, her hazel eyes morphing from despair to something akin to hope. "You've found an amazing man, honey. I'm sure your father would approve."

Clarke didn't want the words to mean anything. She didn't want her mother to have such a firm grip over her still, but she couldn't help the feeling of joy bursting through her. She didn't need the approbation, but having it was so much sweeter. "He's amazing, mom."

"I know. Don't ever let me try to tell you otherwise." Abigail leaned back in her chair, her posture relaxed for the first time. "I don't know how I can ever make up for everything, but I'm going to try, Clarke. I'm really going to try."

Clarke picked at the gauze wrapped around her hands before nodding at her mother, her expression fierce. "Me too. I know not all of this has been your fault and I don't want our family to keep falling apart."

"So we're okay?" The hope suffusing her mother's eyes pulled at her heartstrings. They had spent so much of their lives at odds with each other. It was exhausting. The fact that they finally had a chance to patch it all back together seemed like miracle. Bellamy had been right. Holding on to her anger had done nothing but drag her down with it.

"Yeah. We're okay."

"I'm sorry about what happened last night." Her mother stared, guilt spreading across her face as she frowned.

Clarke swallowed, trying to avoid thinking about the details of the previous evening. She had no idea why her mother was bringing it up; she thought they'd come to a silent agreement not to mention the attack. "Nothing anyone can do about it now. Or even then…"

"I called off the secret service for the night."

"What?" Clarke gaped at her mother. She had known their fight after the first night of the finale had been bad, but she had no idea why her mother would have made that call.

Abigail crossed her arms over her chest, bunching the letters of "Ark College" together. She looked away from Clarke as she spoke, "Thelonious tried to talk some sense into me on the plane ride home. Told me I needed to give you your space. I guess I thought I could do that without actually having to talk with you, so I made the call to have the Secret Service lie low for the finale night. They were at the performance and they followed you guys to Bell Air, but they were only monitoring the road; we had no reason to suspect anyone at the party would put you in danger. Plus I knew Bellamy would never let anything happen to you. I may not have liked him much, I but I'm not blind." Her mother sighed, running her hands through her loose hair. "They didn't even contact me about what happened until after Bellamy had already called."

Clarke blood ran cold as she remembered Bellamy's expression in the dim light of the street. "Bellamy wasn't with me. At least, not when it happened."

"I know, honey, I know." Abigail looked at her now, eyes dripping with guilt. "I had no idea…"

"Are they here now?"

Her mother glanced toward the edge of the yard where they could see a black SUV parked in the driveway. "Of course. I don't get to lessen my security." Abigail sighed, rubbing her watering eyes with the back of her hands. "I just want to keep you safe and I can't even do that."

"Mom." Clarke reached out, grasping one her mother's pale hands with her own. Her skin was cool to the touch despite the heat of the day and her mother's bones stood out markedly against her weathered skin. "No one could have predicted what happened."

Abigail nodded to herself, giving Clarke a strained smile. "I know."

"I don't blame you or Bellamy or anyone else." Clarke insisted. She had no idea if she believed what she was saying, but right now she just needed her mother's guilt to disappear. It only made her feel the slide of the glass against Dax's neck more acutely.

As if sensing Clarke's distress, he mother visibly brightened. The change was as abrupt as the dropping of a curtain. The woman with painful depths to her eyes had vaporized, leaving the woman America knew. Clarke had never witnessed one of her mother's transformations and she realized this might have been the only glimpse of the real Abigail Griffin she had ever experienced.

Clarke rose from her seat and pressed a kiss to her mother's temple. "I'm going to go check in with Bellamy. He's probably worried we've killed each other by now."

"Of course. Remember that you have an appointment with the LA Police Department later. They need you to sign your statement." Clarke swallowed thickly. Right. She'd been too ensnared in the frenzy of pain and shock last night to pay much attention to the detectives that had floated through her room. Her mother narrowed her eyes, a shadow falling even more deeply across her face. "We also have a press conference schedule for after the appointment. We need to contain this story before some idiot from the LAPD says something about you killing Dax and starts some insane rumor that you're a cold blooded killer."

Clarke glanced sharply down at her mother, her stomach churning as nausea swept over her. But she had killed him. She was most definitely a killer. Her right hand trembled at her side, the sting of the lethal glass shard scraping across her memory. Her mother's expression suffused with worry again and Clarke took a deep breath to hold back the rising chaos within her soul. She needed to be strong now. For her mother. For Bellamy.

"Okay. I'll see you later," she managed to whisper before she retreated to the house.

Bellamy looked up from the stove, where he was preparing grilled cheese sandwiches, as the door banged shut behind her. "Don't be mad at me."

"I'm not mad," she assured, moving to stand beside him. "I'll admit it wouldn't have been the first idea that popped into my head, but I'm actually glad you called her. At least one good thing came out of this mess."

He glanced sideways at her through his unruly curls. "So you two were able to talk things out?"

"Pretty much. I guess it sometimes takes a crisis to make us reevaluate our lives." Clarke leaned against him, the brush of his bare arm against hers sending familiar tingles down her spine. At least that hadn't changed.

"And how about you?" He flipped a sandwich before turning fathomless eyes upon her as he murmured, "Last night was rough…"

Clarke met his gaze, allowing the full extent of his concern to wash over her. She wanted to assure him that she was going to be fine. That last night had been a fluke and there would be no more nightmares or gnawing guilt, but she couldn't. "I'm okay right now."

He held her gaze a moment longer, eyes storming before turning away and placing the melted grilled cheeses on three plates. He nodded to himself, teeth worrying his lower lip as he stared down at the sandwiches. Clarke's heart twisted inside her chest.

"I'll let you know, okay? If I'm really not okay, I'll tell you." She placed a bandaged hand on his arm, willing him to look at her again. "We agreed together; I'm not going back on my word, Bellamy."

"Okay." His voice was deeper than usual, strangled almost. He grabbed the plate and strode quickly out toward the pool.

"Bellamy!"

He paused, but didn't turn to face her. She could see the tension knotting his shoulders. He had the air of a man just this side of broken and it terrified her. "Clarke, don't. I'm trying… I have to keep it together. To be strong for you right now. You need me and I can't afford to be weak."

"So together just means a one way street? You can help me, but I can't help you?" She was torn between frustration and dread. His refusal to talk her was pissing her off, but she was even more terrified of what her attack had done to him.

"Not right now." The words tore out of his throat, suffering coating each one in its own unique brand of acid. He continued out the door leaving Clarke alone in the kitchen, tears brimming. She hastily wiped them away as she stared sightlessly at the grilled cheese sandwich he'd left on the counter. She knew he didn't mean to cause her pain. He'd said he was trying to be strong for her, to protect her from the ordeal he was suffering. She growled, marching toward the door. Bellamy didn't get to decide what she could handle. They were going to have this out here and now before it festered and became something much worse.

Both her mother and Bellamy looked up in confusion as she emerged from the backdoor like a bat out of hell. While her mother remained blissfully confused, Bellamy's expression morphed into understanding. Good. She stomped toward them, her feet digging into the wet grass, until she reached the pool. Then she placed her bandaged hands on her hips, ignoring blossoming pain, and glared directly at Bellamy.

"You and me, living room. Now." His eyes widened as she spoke, but she didn't wait to see how he reacted before she made an about face and plowed her way back into the house.

There were a few tense moments of absolute silence as she waited in the living room before she heard the door open and close. She let out a sigh of relief. She had been hedging her bets that Bellamy would be embarrassed enough by the situation, especially in front of her mother, that he would listen to her.

"What the hell, Clarke?" He wasn't yelling, but the severe tone of his voice assured her that there was trouble ahead if she didn't choose her words carefully.

She turned to face him, taking in the steely set to his jaw and the dangerous flash of his eyes. His tanned arms were crossed over his chest, but the gesture was aggressive not protective, as if he were restraining himself. She swallowed heavily.

"I couldn't let it end like that," she began softly. "I know you aren't in a good place right now either, but I can't have you pulling away from me. You say you need to be strong for me. I get that, but more than needing you to be strong I just need you. I can't survive this without you. That's the only thing I know for certain. So please, don't shut me out."

Bellamy was across the room in an instant, his strong arms closing around her. She shuddered against him, her bandaged hands clinging to his shirt. "Shit, Clarke." His voice sounded even more ragged now, but it had lost its biting edge. "I just have no idea what I'm doing here."

She understood his unspoken meaning. "I'm scared too, but that doesn't mean I'm going to pull away. I want to be strong just as much as you do. Sometimes we just don't get what we wish for…"

His strangled laugh was lost in her hair. "You don't say."

"I'm not going to break, Bellamy. I'm stronger than that. What Dax did to me sucks, but I'm not going to sit around playing the victim." She paused, images of the raging river of blood cascading through her mind. "I'm going to feel guilty for killing him, but that's okay. I don't think I'd want to be the sort of person who didn't feel bad."

Bellamy nodded, his silky curls brushing against her face. "Me either." His arms tightened around her. "I can't promise I'll always be what you need. This shit has messed with my head too, but I'll try."

Clarke pulled back to study him. His eyes were luminous with moisture, but no tears had escaped. He looked as lost as before, but the darkness that had been occluding his stare had abated. "Together goes both ways."

"I suppose it does." He dropped a soft kiss on her forehead, leaving her skin bereft when he pulled away. "We should probably go assure your mother that there isn't any trouble in paradise. She may be trying to change, but I have no desire to give her any unnecessary ammunition."

Clarke leaned away from him to glance at her mother through the window. Abigail did look alarmingly perturbed as she silently ate her grilled cheese. "Yes. Let's do that. Bring pickles. She loves pickles."

Bellamy laughed, ducked his head and sauntered into to the kitchen. "Okay. I'm not above a good bribe."

A genuine grin split Clarke's face. She would take the good moments when she could. Clearly they had a lot of work a head of them, but relationships weren't supposed to be easy. Just because they had fallen together like pieces of a puzzle didn't mean that the friction between them wouldn't rear its ugly head occasionally. She kept her smile in place as she followed Bellamy and the jar of pickles into the yard.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: "Our doubts are traitors" - Measure for Measure**

Clarke eyed the black SUV with distaste, bile rising her throat. She wasn't ready for this. The last few hours had been peaceful, so calm that she could almost forget the horror of the previous night if not for the constant sting of her wounds. She had no desire to face the LA police department, let alone the entire world. And yet, here she was, dressed as carefully as possible, her crisp white button down masking her cuts. Her mother had delicately removed the bandages from her face before applying liberal amounts of makeup to mask the damaged skin. Her face felt heavy now, weighted down by the layers of foundation plastered to her skin.

She glanced to the passenger's side of the vehicle, where her mother had her head thrust through the window as she talked with the Secret Service Agent driving the car. Bellamy hovered nervously beside Abigail, glancing back at Clarke with troubled eyes every other second. Clarke understood they were just worried about her safety, but their frantic energy was doing nothing to help stem the rising panic in her gut. In any case, she was pretty sure Dax had been acting alone and that there were no further attempts planned on the Vice President's daughter.

Shifting her weight in her black pumps, she smoothed down the gray pencil skirt. The gauze of her right hand caught on the skirt, tugging at the fresh stitches, and she jerked it quickly away, as if burned. The action caught Bellamy's eye and he directed one last lingering look at her mother before striding towards Clarke.

"You okay?"

The question hung heavily between them. Clarke took a fortifying breath before nodding. "Yeah. Not looking forward to any of this, but I'm okay."

"I'll be by your side the entire time," he murmured, dropping a kiss onto her elegantly coiffed hair.

Her mother backed away from the window, moving to join them at the rear door. Her eyes expression was tight, her eyes shining dully in the afternoon light. "I've talked through the route with Agent Burgess. You should be fine. Remember I'm in the car behind you…"

"Mom." Clarke interrupted her mother, her frayed nerves unable to endure her mother's anxiety. "Bellamy's with me, we'll be fine."

Abigail nodded, a lost look drifting through her eyes. "I know, honey. I know. Be careful with your shirt, alright? Check to make sure there's no blood on it before you get out of the car."

"I'll take good care of her, Mrs. Griffin," Bellamy assured, his warm hand resting on Clarke's back.

Her mother nodded again as she backed away from the SUV. Her thin hands twisted together as she watched them climb into the backseat. Abigail's small frame seemed so delicate, so breakable, as the car pulled away, kicking up a layer of dust that obscured her. Clarke sighed, turning back into the car to face Bellamy. His face was severe, his lips tugging down in a deep frown that had her stomach churning.

He glanced up, as if sensing her shift in focus. The depths of his luminous brown eyes swirled with emotion, but he stayed silent, allowing Clarke a moment to breathe.

"I can do this."

The words were more for herself than Bellamy. Just hearing them aloud helped to assuage her fear. The police had already cleared her of any wrong doing in the matter of Dax's demise and whatever the nightmares that trolled through her slumber told her, she knew what she'd done was justified, legal. Her right hand throbbed, and her troubled gaze shifted from Bellamy to her gauze wrapped hands. The damage had been most extensive there and no amount of makeup could hide the jagged scar cutting across her palm.

"Hey," Bellamy's voice was low, but powerful, demanding her attention, as he grasped her wrist lightly. "Look at me, Clarke."

As if stuck in molasses, her eyes slowly tracked to meet his urgent gaze. "I'm not happy you're doing this today. I argued with your mother and the police chief that you should be given a few more days, but your mother does have a point." He sighed, his free hand digging through his dark curls. "We need to control the narrative. This has the ability to ruin your life and neither your mother or myself are willing to risk that."

"So I get to go stand in front of the media and show off my battle wounds." As bitter as her words were, they also held the resignation that had been flowing through her ever since her mother first spoke of the press conference. Clarke wasn't stupid. She understood how important telling her story was, how necessary it was not only for her mother, but also for Clarke herself. And yet, even as she understood, believed in its necessity, she flinched away from it. Her fingers still trembled as ghostly blood flowed through them. She wasn't ready.

"I know."

Clarke looked sharply up at Bellamy. She was sure she hadn't spoken aloud and yet, his warm eyes burned into her with troubled comprehension. "What?"

"I know this isn't working for you, Clarke." He paused, his eyes devouring her features, honing in on the fear within. "I know. I understand your guilt, but you have to put it aside, if only for the afternoon. The public needs to see your strength. I know you're falling apart, and believe me, I'll be there to pick up the pieces, but right now, you've got to fake it."

"I'm not sure I can." She had no strength left to give. The rigor of competition followed by the terror of the attack had sapped it all from her, leaving her a husk of exhaustion. She knew Bellamy wanted nothing more than to give her the reprieve she was longing for, but she also knew there was no choice. He was right. No matter how broken her soul was, no matter how battered her body, she needed to stand in front of the American people and be strong. She was not going to play the victim and that meant powering through this, no matter how awful, no matter how torturous.

S~*~S

The papers rustled as the detective cleared them off the bare table, giving Clarke a nod before heading toward the door of the empty room. "That's all we needed from you Ms. Griffin. I'm so sorry for your trouble…"

Clarke wasn't exactly sure what the woman meant, her immaculate pantsuit and makeup made her look like she'd been pulled out of some TV police drama, but she'd been kind enough as she walked Clarke through her statement. The woman paused at the door, turning to Clarke's mother. "Let me know if there's anything more we can do for you, Vice President Griffin."

Abigail gave her a curt nod before turning toward Clarke. Her hawk-like eyes raked across every inch of Clarke. Finding no smudged makeup or leaking wounds, she looked over at Bellamy, a slightly sour expression on her face. "I suppose it's only right to have you by her side."

If Bellamy was offended by her reticence, he didn't let it show. He took a step toward Clarke, extending a hand as she extracted her limbs from the chair. His dark eyes locked with hers, the heat of them sending waves of comfort through her. By the door her mother cleared her throat, her eyes breaking Clarke's heart as she looked over. Despite everything that passed between them, Clarke still couldn't quite believe the progress she and Abigail had made. Yes, the catalyst had been horrible, but she was finally seeing the depths of emotion her mother was capable of feeling. For so long she'd considered her an unyielding, stoic woman that cared more for her own personal gain than her family's happiness. But that hadn't been the whole picture. Deep inside of the politician had been a woman no different than Clarke, just trying to make it through the day, just trying to make the right decision in a world with no right answers.

She paused by the door, catching one of Abigail's hands in her bandaged ones. "I love you, Mom."

Abigail's eyes widened a fraction, moisture filling them as she stared back at her daughter. "I love you too, Clarke."

They held hands a moment longer, Clarke trying to stretch the moment as far as she could. Finally, her mother turned away, leading the way to the podium installed on the police department steps. The flood of flash bulbs and wave of hands had Clarke recoiling before they even made it to the stairs, but she thrust aside her anxieties, taking a calming breath as she stood beside her mother, Bellamy hovering just beyond her shoulder. She owed it to them, to every girl that ever been put her in position, to be strong, if only for a moment.

"Thank you for joining us," her mother's voice boomed through the air, the microphones transmuting her voice from the soft tone Clarke had heard so often in childhood, to the commanding tone of the Vice President. "I understand you have many questions. I'm going to give a brief summary of events and then my daughter will make a quick statement and answer any relevant questions. We ask that you respect that this is a difficult time for our family."

A murmur went through the crowd, but no immediate questions were asked. Clarke sighed. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. She knew the media had a keen interest in making the most of her attack, but maybe they would choose to respect her privacy more than usual.

Her mother glanced back at Clarke, her expression unfathomable, before she cast her steely eyes forward. "At the official after party of the Dancing with the Stars cast, my daughter was attacked by another cast member, Dax Marshall. During the struggle a window was broken and one of the shards impaled Dax in the neck. My daughter ran away from the scene to find safety and call 911. By the time the medical professionals arrived on the scene, Dax was dead. My daughter sustained minor injuries, but is expected to make a full recovery. The police have verified her statement and she is accused of no wrongdoing in the attack. We are saddened by the loss of a member of the cast and our thoughts go out to his family members."

Abigail took a step back from the podium, and Clarke stepped forward, her left hand locked firmly within Bellamy's strong grasp. She stared out over the mass of reporters. Their faces all blended together in front of her, a jumble of flashing cameras and jotting pens. Her right hand tingled, tugging at her nerves, but she stayed the course.

"Thank you for coming." She paused, her voice shaking and her mouth dry. She glanced back at Bellamy, his luminous eyes giving her the strength she desperately needed. "I mostly want to say thank you to the first responders that helped me and to my family on the show. I have no idea what the motivation was for Dax's attack on me, but every member of the show has showed me such great support in the past twenty-four hours. I am forever thankful to be part of the Dancing with the Stars family and I look forward to moving on with my life and putting this attack behind me."

Bellamy gave her hand a squeeze of encouragement and she turned to look back at him, silently thanking him for his support. Inhaling deeply she turned back to the masses of reporters. "Any questions?"

She was pleasantly surprised as only a few hands shot into the air. Clarke wasn't sure she could have handled a mad house shouting questions at her from every angle. She nodded to a female reporter in near the front of the pack.

"Has the attack changed your decision to keep dancing?"

Clarke blinked silently at her for a moment. She'd expected questions about the details of the attack. She hadn't been sure any of them would even be aware of her speech at the end of the show. "No, Bellamy and I have made no changes in our plans."

She nodded at another reporter, her confidence growing. "First, I want to say I'm very impressed that you're speaking with us so soon after the events." The man paused, his bright eyes scanning her. "It's not often a member of the presidential or vice presidential family is injured in such a way. Have you lost any confidence in the abilities of the Secret Service?"

It took all of Clarke's self control not to swing around to face her mother. There was no point in dredging up her mother's role in the lack of Secret Service at the party. In any case, they likely wouldn't have followed Clarke into the basement and even if they had, she wasn't sure Dax wouldn't have gotten his moment anyway. Shit had hit the fan with alarming speed during their encounter. "I think the Secret Service did what they could. None of us had reason to suspect that Dax would try to attack me, so I don't blame them."

Clarke nodded to the next reporter more timidly. The woman smiled at her, but it was empty, the vacantness of her eyes setting Clarke on edge. "Was it your intention to kill Mr. Marshall?"

A shocked murmur ran through the crowd as the blood drained from Clarke's face, leaving her a pale white sheet as she stared back at the woman. This was the question she had been dreading, praying against. Of course it hadn't been her intention to kill him, but she'd known what she was doing when she'd chosen to slash at his neck. She might have only been reacting, trying desperately to save herself from the madness that lay ahead, but she'd known.

She swallowed, her mouth full of cotton. Behind her she could hear Bellamy muttering nasty things under his breath, but she paid him no heed. This was the moment where she either stood up and proved her mettle or sank back into the abyss.

"I knew I had to get away. My intention was to save myself from a violent attack by a man who had threatened to rape me." Her voice was coated in steel. "I have spent several years training to become a doctor; it is never my intention to take human life, but when my own survival is at stake I am willing to do what I must. You can look over my statement to verify the circumstances of his death if you would like." Her eyes blazed as she stared out across the mass of cameras. "No further questions."

The roaring in her ears drowned out any of the commotion around her as she hurtled toward the black SUV waiting for them at the back of the police department. Her hand throbbed and her other cuts stung as they rubbed against the material of her shirt. Her chest heaved as she threw herself into the rear seats, moisture threatening to overtake her eyes. A door slammed behind her and then there was only silence.

"Clarke."

One glance at Bellamy's face told her everything. He was wreaked, his eyes burning into hers, begging for forgiveness. His hair flew in every direction as his fingers agitatedly attacked his scalp, his jaw set in a tense line of defeat. "God, Clarke," he breathed, his voice a dark rasp through the heavy silence. "I didn't expect that. I would never have let you get up there if I'd known that question was coming."

"You couldn't have known…" Her voice sounded hollow, barren.

"I should have-"

"You couldn't have." She rubbed at her leaking eyes. "No one could have. So don't make it worse by taking all the blame."

The SUV lurched into motion, sending them sprawling into each other. Although she had not been craving it, the warmth of him, the frantic beat of his heart against her ear, settled her. She sagged against him, the fight evaporating from her. "We couldn't have known. None of us."

As if sensing her exhaustion, he relaxed beside her, his strong arms pulling her firmly against him. His breath traced across her cheek in defeat. "I know."

"So stop trying to take the blame for the world being a shitty place."

His dropped to her hair, his breath mingling with her elaborate braids. "I just want to protect you…"

"Well, stop. I'm not about to break." Her teeth worried her lip as she spoke again. "If that didn't break me, nothing will."

"Fair enough," he murmured. "Can we at least not do that again?"

A wry chuckle escaped her dry lips. "Yeah, I certainly hope we can manage that."

S~*~S

Clarke sighed as she sank onto the couch to watch Octavia rehearsing in the living room. The couch was pushed to the side of the room and the wooden coffee table had taken up residence in the now vacant guest bedroom. Octavia was in the midst of a series of chaine turns that left Clarke feeling mildly nauseous. Her hair flew out around her like a dark cloak and her arms moved as if casting a spell. Clarke shifted on the couch, pulling her feet up and moving to stretch across the entirety of the soft blue material. Watching Octavia was hypnotic and Clarke welcomed the opportunity to simply observe.

The backlash from the press conference had been surprisingly minimal, but Clarke had taken to hiding out in the house as Octavia and Bellamy came and went. She wasn't yet ready to tackle the outside world again. The nightmares had paraded through with decreasing regularity, but what they lacked in frequency they more than made up for in vigor. She'd awoken screaming the night before, absolutely certain that blood was jetting from her fingertips like demented garden hoses. It had taken Bellamy a full half hour to calm her down enough to see reason.

Clarke couldn't explain the mania she felt when exiting the dreams. It was as if she'd been separated from her logical faculties and was left with only her basest instincts. Those instincts lacked any finesse and drove her to a fanatical urge for survival above all else. Bellamy had become adept a dealing with her in such a hysterical state, but she could tell the nightly disruptions were wearing him down. He slumped more, leaning on walls and furniture for support when he wasn't needed on the dance floor. Dark bags had begun to hover below his eyes, marring his handsome features and reminding Clarke that whatever this was, it wasn't sustainable.

She'd considered counseling, but wasn't sure how much it would help. Clarke wasn't upset because of the trauma of the attack; she was guilty because she'd killed her attacker. Every logical part of her brain told her she'd done the best thing in a situation with only shitty outcomes. The absolutely insane part of her brain told her she was cold-blooded killer who deserved nightly torture in the form of bloody visions. She'd given herself multiple speeches that she had little in common with Lady Macbeth, but the message didn't seem to stick. As far as she could tell, there was no logical reason for her guilt and no apparent path away from it.

"O?" Bellamy stood in the entranceway to the living room, arms crossed as he artfully slumped against the wall. Only he could make slouching look like an art form. His attention was directed toward Octavia, but he had an odd expression on his face, as if he had just eaten something sour.

Octavia extracted herself from the whirlwind of turns and frowned at her brother. "You were supposed to be here half an hour ago. What gives, Bell?"

"I was arguing with the producers."

The weariness in his tone piqued Clarke's attention. She knew he'd been trying to get out of the part of his contract that included a three-month summer tour. The touring show more than doubled the income of the dancers on the show, but Bellamy was ready to move on. Clarke wasn't sure if he'd discussed his plans with Octavia or not, but she hoped he'd learned his lesson.

Octavia crossed her arms over her sports bra clad chest and glared at her brother. "Is this about ditching me?"

"I'm not ditching you, O." Bellamy sounded more annoyed than Clarke had heard him in a long time. This was the tone she'd grown accustomed to at the beginning of their run on the show when all evidence had pointed towards him being a first class asshole.

"Whatever." Octavia's response was equally venomous. Clarke considered slinking back to the bedroom or maybe out to the pool, but feared any movement would bring the twin might of Blake wrath down upon her. She opted for picking at the scars on her arms instead. It had been over a week since the season finale and subsequent madness; most of her wounds were well on their way to healing. Only the deep slash across her right hand still had to be bandaged. The rest of her skin was covered in shallow scabs and crisscrossing red lines that faded more each day.

"O! Would you just fucking listen to me?" Bellamy barked out, jolting Clarke back to their argument.

"Fine."

He eyed his sister for a second before he spoke, his voice softer. "They won't let me get out of the show entirely, especially since Clarke and I won this year. They will let me skip everything but LA, San Francisco, Las Vegas, New York, Chicago, Atlanta and Denver."

Octavia groaned, but the rancor had gone out of her stare. "Lovely. We get to learn two different sets of choreography. One for when you deign to join us and one for the other bazillion shows."

"I'm not trying to make this hard on you, O." Bellamy finally moved into the room, crossing Octavia's practice area to perch on the couch arm next to Clarke. His fingers threaded through her hair, absently playing with it as he awaited his sister's response.

"I know," Octavia allowed, clearly resigned to Bellamy's decision whether she agreed with it or not. "Will you at least practice with me?"

He glanced down at Clarke, chocolate eyes searching her face. She smiled up at him. If he could do anything to soften the blow of their diverging paths, Clarke was glad of it. Bellamy stared at her for a beat longer, concern and gratitude mixing in his expression. Finally, he nodded to his sister and reached to take her hand.

Clarke squashed the rising tide of jealousy that swelled at the sight of the Blakes moving together. She was taking Bellamy away from Octavia and had absolutely no right to resent the younger woman. The siblings moved together with a natural ease that was one part talent and two parts experience. From what they had told her, Clarke figured they must have been dancing together in one way or another for over a decade.

Clarke sighed, her eyes following the effortless movement of Bellamy swinging Octavia into a lift. He swung his sister down, flipping her through a complicated dismount before catching her as she dropped into a low split. They looked good together, but were clearly siblings, thus limiting the amount of sensuality they could pull off. Clarke had seen some of the old videos. The Blakes had done a phenomenal job of pushing the limits of their chemistry without entering uncomfortable territory. Their tangoes were full of passion and aggression, but not sexually charged. They managed to make a Paso Double all about the fight for dominance and nothing about the sensuality of a man and a woman. It was incredible how well they circumvented the issue. The audience was too caught up in the intricate choreography and quality of the dancing to give any thought to the PG nature of the experience.

"Clarke?"

She jerked, realizing the siblings had finished practicing while she'd zoned out. She bit her lip, stomach turning at the desperation suffusing Bellamy's voice. He still seemed to believe she was going to shatter into a million pieces if he did the wrong thing. As far as she was concerned, there were no wrong things, so it hardly mattered if she had the potential to fall to pieces.

"I'm fine, just thinking." She rolled over to her side, motioning for him to sit beside her. "I like watching you dance… it gives me chance to clear my thoughts."

"So glad you're paying such close attention," Octavia quipped, teasing smile growing on her lips. At least Octavia wasn't treating her like a blown glass figurine.

Clarke rolled her eyes. "You know what I meant."

"Yeah, yeah." Octavia glanced down, wrinkled her nose and turned toward hallway. "I'm in desperate need of a shower, so I'm going to go do that."

Clarke watched the smile fade from Bellamy's eyes as his sister walked away. "Hey, I'm good."

His hesitant glance portrayed his rampant disbelief. "Clarke… "

"I was just thinking about all the ridiculous pictures of you in Octavia's scrap books. Honestly."

Bellamy held her gaze for a long moment before nodding. She let out a deep sigh of relief as he turned away, heading back to his room to change. The distance between them had been growing, gnawing its way into her heart, but Clarke had no idea what to do. There were moments of understanding between them that alleviated her worries, but she couldn't escape the hollow doubt that lurked beneath the surface, never truly extinguishing.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17: "Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds" - Sonnet 116**

"Can I ask you something? Even if it might be upsetting?"

"You know you can." Clarke looked up from where she sat on the couch with a copy of the Argonautica. She'd found it at the bottom of Bellamy's bookcase and had taken to it like a moth to a flame in an attempt to find sufficient distraction during the lonely days she spent at home while Octavia and Bellamy rehearsed. She set the slim book down, pulling herself away from Medea's fanatical worry over assisting Jason. Although the prose was archaic, of an era similar to Homer's classics, she'd found herself instantly drawn in by the detailed similes and visceral angst.

She fiddled with the Band-Aid covering her stiches as she waited for Bellamy to continue. The stitches were supposed to come out tomorrow and had taken to itching with annoying frequency.

"The night you were attacked…" He hesitated, eying her critically before continuing. Clarke met his gaze evenly. She wasn't going to shatter to bits just because he asked her an uncomfortable question. "That night I called you… Princess and you tore away from me screaming. I was wondering if you knew why you reacted that way."

He had spoken the nickname softly, as if its impact was controlled by volume. She frowned as she realized he'd ceased to use the moniker. Clarke sighed, staring into his anxious eyes and trying to find a path around causing him even more distress. "I do."

"And?" His jaw clenched and his hands tensed against the couch cushions. "I can handle it, Clarke."

"I think Dax figured that the best way to get to me was through my relationship with you." Bellamy sucked in a breath next to her, but Clarke weathered on. "So he called me Princess while we were talking, right before he grabbed me. When I dream about him dying, he nearly always calls me that."

He was still for an infinite second before he sprung from the couch, muscles straining against his fitted black t-shirt. He stalked back and forth across the living room for nearly a minute before he swung to face Clarke. His face was a wreck of emotion and his eyes brimmed with a menace she'd never seen. "If he wasn't already dead, I'd find him and shatter all the bones in his body," he snarled, his cheeks flushed and his nostrils flaring.

"Bellamy…" She had no idea how to react to such raw violence coming from him. Clarke understood how deeply this revelation cut him. Dax had taken something sacred between them and turned it putrid. If she hadn't been the hand that dealt him his final blow, she might have harbored a similar rage. As it stood, the power of his death had cancelled out any of her indignation, leaving only nebulous guilt.

"Do you understand how this feels?" Bellamy's voice gained momentum with each word, reaching a fever pitch by the end of his question. "I can't do anything, Clarke! I need to do something… anything. I need to be a man and fix it, but I can't fucking do that because you already killed the bastard and now it's eating you up inside. I have never felt so fucking helpless. It makes my skin crawl."

Clarke stared up at him, dread running through her veins. She could feel the strands weaving them together slowly unraveling. This shared pain was eroding both of them, leaving only raw specters of what had come before. She'd thought it before and knew it now more acutely than ever. Something had to give. They had to move beyond the attack sooner rather than later. Sitting around letting it fester was only driving a wedge between them.

"Come with me to DC next week."

He blinked owlishly at her several times before taking a step closer. "What?"

"We need to break the cycle somehow," she explained. "I need to go back to DC for a lot of reasons. I need to terminate my lease, move out of the apartment, visit my mother and the Jahas, and go to Arlington. I think we need to get out of LA and this would be the perfect opportunity. You don't start the show until mid-June, so we have half of the month to just figure out how to be normal people."

"I don't know. O might-"

"Octavia is a big girl, Bell. Besides, Lincoln's not going to let anything happen to her. They're planning on moving in together here part time as soon as we leave in the fall, why not let them have a taste of it now?" she countered.

Bellamy's teeth worried his scarred lips as he stared down at her. "Yeah, okay."

"I'm not any happier about our current situation." Clarke reached out to him, intertwining her fingers with his.

He sank down next to her on the couch, muscled arm pulling her to him. "I know. I just get so damned frustrated. It's like no matter what I try, nothing helps and I just feel so damn useless." He stared down at her as if she was going to be ripped away from him at any second, despair clouding his luminous eyes.

"I know," she whispered, clinging tightly to his hand. "We need to move on, Bellamy. We have hopes and dreams, a life we want to live together, and right now we just can't do that. I'm so sorry…"

"Don't." His voice was brittle steel. "Don't take any responsibility for what that bastard did to you. It's bad enough watching you tear yourself up for killing him. I am not letting you feel guilty for being attacked. That's bullshit and you know it."

"I can't help how I feel…" She knew he was right, but the onerous weight pressing down upon her had no care for the logic of his argument. If she hadn't been attacked, they wouldn't be falling to pieces, thus it was her fault the rift between them was bordering on a canyon.

"Well, stop it." Bellamy desperation had morphed into something hotter now, his jaw clenching as he controlled the rage threatening to burst through.

Clarke felt as if she was being pulled in a million directions at once. She wanted to make him happy, but every sentence she breathed just pushed him further away. She was clawing at a melting wall of ice, her footholds disappearing as soon as she clung to them. "Bellamy…"

"Don't, Clarke. I agree that a change in scenery may help, but it's not going to magically solve everything." He spoke slowly, each word a dart. "But you need to admit that you need to change. I know that's not easy, but how you're handling this isn't working."

Clarke swallowed, gaping back at him, feeling as if he'd pulled the rug out from under her. His expression was etched in stone, but his eyes held a world of pain. She clung to that distress, reminding herself that he was upset because he cared. He was dragging her through the fire because he wanted her to rise from the ashes. But she still had to burn. She trembled beside him, trying to hide the movement, knowing it was hopeless.

"Okay, so how do I change?"

He licked his lips, eyes darkening in thought. "Let's start with what you feel guilty about. Don't hold back; just tell me that you're feeling. I promise I won't say anything until you're done."

She traced the line of her scar, finger skipping across each of the stiches in a grotesque game of connect the dots. She had no idea where to start. "I think it starts with feeling guilty for being in the situation to begin with. Like I should have had a sixth sense telling me to wait for you and not to go to the party with Octavia and Raven. It goes on from there. I should have mingled more, stayed with Raven and Finn instead of going off on my own.

"I was still coming down from the high of our win and I'm sure I wasn't thinking straight. " She paused, trying to recall how she felt as she wandered down the stairs of Myles' mansion. It was like trying to see through a wall; the memories were sequestered away beyond her reach, only the terror of the night bubbling to the surface. "I have no idea what I was thinking. The only part I remember clearly before it all happened is your voice in my head reminding me how dangerous Dax was. I don't feel guilty about trying to get away, but I can't get the feeling of the glass slipping into his neck out of my head." She stared hopelessly into his stormy dark orbs. "I just feel the blood running through my fingers constantly. I'm brushing my teeth and then… blood. I can't get away from it. Logically I know I shouldn't feel so bad, but this isn't logic I'm dealing with; it's something more primal."

The fire had dissipated from his gaze, leaving only shadowy pain. He reached out and took her injured hand, flipping the palm up to face him. "This came from when you stabbed him?" His fingers ghosted across the healing wound as she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "I suspected as much," he murmured, turning her hand back over. "Clarke, who we are and who we need to be to survive are very different things. This doesn't define you."

Bellamy's lips were pressed into a thin line and his eyes shone with a bitter sadness that unnerved her. She had assumed he would dismiss her guilt offhand again, as he had been doing for the past few weeks, but he stared back at her with haunted eyes. Clarke realized she knew very little about what Bellamy might have done to protect his sister as they scraped through. It couldn't have been easy, having all that responsibility trust upon him long before he became a legal adult. The world-weary look that sometimes marred his handsome features was more than a product of the last several months.

His dark eyes penetrated her, boring holes into her soul and twisting her already tangled guts into new contortions. "Clarke, I've done things I'm not proud of. Not just the business with my mother…" Bellamy paused, eyes shifting away from her face before snapping back with even greater intensity. "When I worked at the garage I got involved in illegal drag racing. I didn't want to, but there was extra money to be had and I'd fallen in with the wrong crowd. My so-called-friends practically goaded me into it, but the minute I finished my first race I was hooked. It's like performing; the adrenaline is like nothing else you've ever experienced."

His sharp jaw worked silently for a moment as he tried to find his next words. Clarke watched the muscles clench and release, her fingers twitching to caress them. She resisted the urge, staying deathly still, half-afraid that any movement would shatter the moment and that the gulf between them would return with a vengeance.

"I was in over my head when a guy from a rival garage challenged me to race on the mountain roads. Up until then we'd been sticking to country roads, mostly straight and flat. I knew I was a good driver, but if you make a mistake on a cliff road at 7,000 feet, you're dead, not in a ditch with a totaled car. So I refused the race." Bellamy's expression contorted, as if a sudden wave of pain had crashed over him. "I thought that was it. I was naïve and stupid. He essentially kidnapped my girlfriend and told me he was going to race with her in the car unless I accepted his challenge."

Shock coursed through Clarke's veins. She'd never heard of him talk about any previous women except for Roma and that had never seemed serious. The wreaked expression consuming his face told her this girl had meant something to him. Clarke had thought that she knew Bellamy Blake, that the skeletons in his closet had all been paraded before her, but clearly she'd only scraped the surface. She bit her lip, trying to hide her churning emotions from his vulnerable eyes. He might not have told her before, but he was telling her now. She didn't have to like it, but she did owe it to him to listen.

She swallowed thickly, hyperaware of his eyes tracing the shape of her face. She loved all the parts of him, even the ones she knew nothing about, and one confession wasn't going to change that. She'd thought something had to give, but maybe that something was them. They'd adopted roles that neither could live up to and now Bellamy was taking the first step toward breaking their untenable pattern.

Bellamy's teeth worried his lip as he spoke again, voice nothing more than a dark murmur in the quiet living room. "I accepted, sure that I was going to save her, but he didn't let her out of the car. The minute we were both at the starting line, he just took off with Lisa in the car." His eyes were swamped with darkness now, nearly black. "I had no idea what to do so I took off after them. I just wanted us all safe and off the mountain, but he had other ideas. He went up the canyon instead of down. I managed to pass him on one of the straights between the hairpins. I pulled off ahead of them, using my car to barricade the road. There was plenty of room for him to stop."

Bellamy dropped his head, fingers weaving violently through his dark curls. His eyes were red-rimmed as he lifted his head. "He didn't stop, Clarke. He tried to run me down and swerve around the car. Neither worked. There was a 1000 foot drop on the outside of the road. They careened off doing at least 50 MPh." He took an unsteady breath, fingers clenching erratically around her injured hand. She ignored the pain, holding his gaze unwaveringly as he continued to rasp. "I didn't know what to do, so I left the scene. I left them to fucking die, Clarke. I know it's not the same as stabbing Dax in the throat, but that had to be done. You were just trying to survive. Me, I was a coward."

Clarke had no idea what to say. Bellamy was right; he hadn't driven the car off the road. He didn't feel the slick of blood against his hand, but she knew that didn't mean he was free from fault. He argued that what she'd done was for survival and he was right about that too. Clarke wasn't someone to just stab someone for no reason; she knew that.

His use of the 'I'm a worse person than you are' approach unnerved her though. She supposed his intention had been to show her that she was not alone in her guilt, but this was not the first time he'd resorted to exhibiting his mistakes to alleviate her guilt. His story about his mother had been shared expressly to make Clarke stop assuming responsibility for the death her father and Wells. He shouldn't have to become the lesser person for her to see reason.

"Bellamy…"

The back of his hand wiped at his watering eyes as Bellamy admitted, "I've never told anyone that story. The police ruled their deaths accidental and I backed out of the racing scene. No one ever put the pieces together despite Lisa being my girlfriend. They all thought she was cheating on me and I let them. Only a few guys knew about the kidnapping part of it and they all kept their mouths shut lest they expose the drag scene."

"You didn't kill her, Bellamy. A really shitty situation killed her. You were trying to save her as far as I can tell." Clarke knew he wouldn't want to hear that, but she couldn't let him keep bringing himself down to raise her up.

"I could say the same thing about you. A really shitty situation killed Dax. One that he put himself in." The embers of frustration had reemerged in his luminous eyes and Clarke knew this was it. They either got through this conversation or they didn't. The implications of that realization were too terrifying to contemplate.

"I know that, but it's hard to separate what I did for survival from who I am as a person. I don't want to be a killer." She paused, steadying herself for the struggle to come. "And you aren't a killer either. If I get a 'get out of jail free' card for this one, then you fucking get one too. You did what you needed to do to protect your family and your sister. What would have happened to Octavia if you were arrested for manslaughter or even drag racing?" She could see the question cut into his carefully wrought defenses. "Bellamy, they couldn't have survived without you. You made a terrible choice between your dead girlfriend and your family. You can't regret that you chose the living."

"I still feel like I killed her."

"Well I did kill Dax and you want me to forgive myself for that. It's hardly fair that I'm the only one deserving of forgiveness in this relationship." Clarke stared into his dark eyes, shrouded in suffering. On impulse she surged forward, grabbing his hands and kneeling before him. "I forgive you, Bellamy."

His jaw dropped as he blinked at her in incomprehension. "What?" he managed to croak.

"I forgive you. For Lisa, for your mother, for whatever else haunts you at night. I forgive you." She placed soft kisses on his hands. "And while I'm at it, I forgive myself too. We've both been through shit, Bell, but neither of us is a cold-blooded murderer and neither of us deserve to hold on to all this pain. So I'm going to forgive myself, but I need you to do that too."

He was staring at her as if he had never seen her before. The look had been directed at her before, but it had morphed into something new. He was awed; his sharp features softened by the hope effusing from his eyes. "What in the world did I do to deserve you?" he whispered, pulling her towards him.

Clarke wasn't letting him off the hook without a verbal affirmation though. "Bell, can you forgive yourself?"

For a moment a lost look warped his face but an instant later his expression cleared. "Yeah, with your help, I think I can. It might not happen today, but I want to move forward. More than anything I want to move forward with you."

"I have to ask. Any more traumatic events I should know about? I keep feeling like I know everything and then you spring something like this on me. I'm not sure how many more surprises my psyche can take." She said the words with an amused smile, but the serious undertone of the statement was clear.

"No." He pulled her back to sit beside him on the couch. The warmth of his body suffused her with a sense of safety more strongly than ever. "You know everything now. I swear. I never thought I would be able share these things with anyone, so thank you."

"So… are you still interested in going to D.C.? It may not be the cathartic solution I was hoping for, but I'd still appreciate you coming with me."

Bellamy pulled back to stare down at her, his lips twitching in amusement. "I think that might be possible."

"Just say yes, you ass," Clarke groused, drinking in his answering smile.

"Yes." The laughter in his voice was a welcome respite from the doom and gloom that had shrouded them for weeks. For the first time Clarke could see beyond the murky present and into a future that wasn't tarnished by reoccurring nightmares and daily fights. She grinned up at him before leaning forward to pepper elated kisses along the constellations of his freckles. His skin was soft under her lips and the butterflies raged in her stomach as he tilted his head to capture her lips with his own. She met his ragged lips with abandon, savoring the taste of him as chills ricocheted through her body. Despite plentiful physical contact over the past week, they had not touched each other like this since before the finale. The sudden overexposure had her panting by the time he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

"I'm pretty sure Octavia would appreciate us moving this to the bedroom," she managed to gasp out.

His deep chuckled resonated through her, leaving her breathless again. "Okay, Princess. Your wish is my command."

Clarke didn't even think to react to the nickname; she was too preoccupied trying to pry the hem of his shirt up to expose his deliciously toned abs. Bellamy swatted her hands away with wide grin that turned sinfully wicked at the last second. Before she knew it, he'd flung her over his shoulder and was stalking toward the bedroom. Clarke let loose a shriek that was more delighted than irritated as she allowed him to cart her off. She'd missed this and she could withstand a bit of manhandling if it meant the rift between them began to heal.

S~*~S

Clarke tumbled into consciousness, her temples pounding and her breath coming in short spurts. The air around her felt cloying as it shuddered through her lungs. A few more desperate gasps and she forced open her eyes only to be instantly lost in infinite brown pools.

"Bellamy?" She pushed herself back on the pillows to stare at him from a more natural distance. His teeth worried his lip, but he didn't have the air of desperation she'd become accustomed to upon waking in such an incongruous manner. She swallowed thickly. "Another nightmare?" He nodded, his eyes holding hers. "I thought they were going away…"

He sighed, his warm breath ghosting across her face. "Just because you decided to forgive yourself doesn't mean your subconscious isn't doing its own thing. I know shit about psychology, but I'm pretty sure this isn't something that just goes away because you want it to…"

Clarke sighed again, melting back into the wooden headboard. Yet again, Bellamy was right. She'd been doing her best to feel positive about her situation, to open up to him and Octavia, hell even to Raven, but the nightmares still clung to her like a foul odor. Time. They all said she needed time, but their trip to D.C. was looming and Clarke felt like she'd been running in place for too long. She was either going to get over this or she wasn't. So why the hell couldn't she just get over it?

Bellamy seemed to sense her frustration as he laid a warm hand on her shoulder. "I have an idea," he began, handing her a towel wrapped around some clothing. She took the material from him, her brows rising in question as she identified her bikini as the other item. He grinned back her at her, his expression beguiling. "Trust me."

She glanced at the clock. The flashing red number indicated it was 3 AM, an uncivilized hour to be traipsing around the house let alone hitting the pool. Her brow knit as she stared up at Bellamy. "You want me to change into this. Now?"

He gave an impish shrug, as if he really didn't care either way. "We can always skinny dip."

A flash of heat slid through her, but Clarke was too confused to be terribly enticed by his suggestion. Eyeing her bikini, she sighed. Whatever it was that Bellamy had in mind, it had to better than fighting the nebulous torment of her nightmares. "Fine. Get out."

A deep chuckled chased him out the door until she was left with nothing but stillness inside the dark room. She tried to ignore the foreboding that germinated upon his departure as she slid off the bed, but standing on the cold wooden floor unease flooded her. What in the hell was Bellamy thinking? She trusted him, she really did, but pulling her out of a nightmare only to submerge her in a pool seemed like a recipe for disaster. A fresh round of goosebumps rose on her skin as she stood motionless, the still air cooling her feverish limbs. The red colon on the clock flashed incessantly, in union with her throbbing pulse.

"Clarke?"

Bellamy's voice from beyond the door broke the spell, catapulting Clarke into motion. "Coming," she called, shucking her pants and underwear and grabbing the bikini bottoms. With equal swiftness her shirt sailed onto the bed, and the bikini top was knotted around her torso. She grabbed a thin blue sweatshirt that was hanging by the door, Bellamy's not hers, and threw it over her head as she opened the door.

"I was worried you'd chickened out on this adventure," he murmured as she joined him in the hall, his deep voice sending thrills down her spine.

She shrugged, hardly able to deny her reticence. "I'm here now."

He nodded, his eyes darkening as he fully drank in her form. "Come on." He grasped her hand firmly within his as he led the way through the living room and the kitchen to the backyard. The night air was warmer than she'd expected, but with a high of ninety the day before, Clarke supposed the lingering heat was only natural. The humid grass squished between her toes as they crossed the lawn to reach the pool. Several lamps beneath the water sent ethereal blue light scattering, reflecting and refracting, and casting ghostly patterns across the luminous surface. She dipped an experimental toe in the water and relished the heat that immersed her.

Bellamy gave her a knowing smile. "I turned the heat on earlier."

She nodded thankfully before peeling off the sweatshirt and descending into the water with a muted splash. He was directly on her heels, his toned chest glowing in the flickering blue as he sank into the pool beside her. She took a moment to drink in his physique, her eyes trailing heat along his tanned biceps before searing into his chest and sinking to the enticing trail of dark hair disappearing into his black swim shorts. Her tongue swept along her lips, her mouth suddenly dry.

"Earth to Clarke…" his baritone rumbled in her ear as he closed the distance between them, his tone leaving no doubt that he knew exactly what she was doing. The water dripped down the golden skin of his collarbone, begging Clarke to taste his sparkling skin. He backed away a half step, a look of chiding amusement dancing through his eyes. "Seriously, Clarke."

She cleared her throat, cheeks warming, as she realized she'd been eyeing him like a piece of succulent meat. Right. Probably best to actually pay attention to what he was saying, not just the way his muscled form made her want to write epic lyric poetry. Maybe she had been reading too much.

"So, um, what are we doing out here?"

"We," he grinned down at her, his eyes sparkling with delight, "are dancing."

"Dancing," she repeated dumbly.

He laughed, the sound as magical as the first light of dawn. "Yes. Dancing. That thing we won a trophy for about a month ago?" He paused, a serious timbre filling his words. "I realized the other day that you hadn't danced at all since the finale. I've been so caught up in rehearsal with O that I totally forgot that you weren't dancing too. I know how much you loved it and I want to help you get that back."

She blinked owlishly back at him. Huh. She hadn't even considered getting back out on the dance floor in the wake of the madness of the finale night. She'd never even thought about how much she loved to dance, how free it made her feel. Instead, she locked herself in their house and crawled into a den of her own misery. Even watching Bellamy and Octavia practice hadn't set off her craving for movement. A cold tendril of dread worked its way down her spine. Did she even still want to dance? Was she making a horrible mistake giving up her entire life for a pursuit she no longer desired? Despite the warmth of the pool, Clarke shivered.

Bellamy's warm hand pulled her against his chest, her trembling all the more noticeable within his firm grasp. "Hey, it's okay." His other hand rose to caress her dripping tresses. "I wouldn't have brought you out here if I didn't think you were ready for this."

She nodded mutely against his chest, praying he was right. They stayed locked in an embrace for several more minutes until Clarke pulled away, breathing in his confidence and making it her own. She could do this. She loved to dance. She'd always loved to dance, long before the loss of her father had sculpted her life into something less than joyful. No matter how many scars stretched across her soul, she could dance.

Wordlessly, Bellamy backed away from her, holding out a hand. She took it gently, savoring the heat of him against her. And then she was soaring as he catapulted her easily into a star lift, her body tensing at all the right moments as muscle memory took over. Below her the surface of the water surged and fell in haunting shades of blue. An instant later he was propelling her further into the air, her body twisting laterally as she spun down to meet his waiting arms. Adrenaline gushed through her, igniting her soul, leaving her fingers tingling in its wake.

Before she could fully recover Bellamy's arms were grasping her again, sending her flying upward to rest upon his shoulders. Gleaning his intention, she stiffened in his grasp as he spun in a circle, water heaving about them. His turns were slower than they would have been on solid ground, but Clarke delighted in watching the water spray beneath her. He vaulted her down, turning her end over end until she landed with a joyful splash, water and laughter filling her lungs.

Water dripped copiously from his drenched curls as he grinned back at her, his expression lighter than she'd seen in weeks. He gathered her in his arms once more, leading Clarke through a stumbling waltz. The water fought them at every turn, but she hardly cared. She felt like some Disney princess, waltzing with her prince in the final scene, enchanting orchestral music encompassing them as they danced beneath a sparkling field of stars.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18: "Everyone can master a grief but he that has it" -Much Ado About Nothing**

Clarke studied the blossoming deep pink and white Queen Elizabeth roses from one of the wrought iron benches in the White House Rose Garden. The catering staff was milling around, setting up a table and chairs for dinner. If she squinted she could just make out Bellamy's unruly mop of curls against the green of the lawn as he helped the staff trim the shrubs and plant the summer annuals. She had tried to talk him out of the manual labor, but he insisted it gave him something to do other than feel like a fish out of water, so she'd arranged a place in the yard maintenance team for him for the week. If President Jaha had been surprised to see the young dancer in the midst of his workforce, he hadn't mentioned it.

Her mother had been out of town on official state business until now, so Clarke and Bellamy had spent numerous hours entertaining Mrs. Jaha and packing Clarke's old apartment. The First Lady had been over the moon to finally meet her dancing idol in a context outside of her son's funeral. Bellamy had turned a particularly fetching shade of crimson as she sang his praises, but had managed a polite smile followed by enough decent small talk that the two of them ended up hitting it off brilliantly.

Moving out of her apartment had been a heart wrenching experience. Wells had inundated every nook and cranny. There were notes on the fridge reminding her she needed to feed herself to become an awesome doctor. There were pictures on the mantle of them laughing as children and then more serious graduation pictures with wide grins and pomp and circumstance. Each note, each picture was like a needle to the heart, bearable alone but paralyzing en mass. Only Bellamy's silent presence at her side moved her through the arduous process of destroying the past.

Each book packed, each glass wrapped in newspaper had felt like a step away from Wells, from her father. Clarke had expected the process to be difficult, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of closing that chapter of her life. The hope that had been gaining momentum in their final days in Los Angeles had been snuffed out by the numbing dread of finally moving on. She was no longer going to be living somewhere her father had visited. Wells wasn't going to be stopping by to pester her with hidden notes that made the pain of medical school seem worthwhile. They were gone and so was this part of her.

They had taken three days to pack her things, sending only a small set on to the house in Colorado. Even now, several days after she had turned in her keys, she felt a gnawing in her gut. Clarke knew she was making the right decision, a life without Bellamy was akin to a life without oxygen now, but the choice weighed heavily upon her. Intellectually she knew the unease would fade and she'd settle into her new life, but right now she was caught, the festering ache holding her hostage. Tomorrow, their last day in D.C., they planned to visit Arlington, where both Wells and her father had been interned. Clarke had no idea if she was going to be able to hold it together, but she also knew it didn't matter.

Bellamy had been nothing short of amazing in the week following their pact of mutual forgiveness and the magical night in the pool. He'd taken her request to heart and each day the shroud of darkness that had tangled about them lifted a bit more. He talked about his childhood openly now, even asking Octavia to share her memories of their mother. The torment that had haunted him was still present in his dark eyes, but he seemed more determined than ever to move beyond his past.

Inspired by his bravery, Clarke had spoken at length with both Raven and Octavia about the details of her attack. If talking honestly with Bellamy had begun the healing process, talking openly with Raven had cemented it. When Clarke had broached the subject, Raven had given her a soul-searching look before walking over to the Blake's liquor cabinet, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and marching back to the couch. Eyes boring holes into her glass of whiskey, Raven had explained how she and Finn met. Clarke had known they were childhood acquaintances, but Raven had added the unsettling detail that Finn had saved her from a very similar attack. Dark eyes glazed with pain, Raven had admitted that she doubted she'd be alive if Finn hadn't stumbled across the alley at just the right time. She'd only been fourteen. Her attacker hadn't been killed, but Finn had thought quickly and cracked a cement block over his skull before calling the police at the nearest payphone.

Listening to Raven, Clarke had understood there was no point feeling guilty for having been attacked. Raven was the strongest woman she knew, excepting perhaps Octavia. If Raven could be put in such an awful situation, so could anyone. Neither of them had done anything wrong. Holding her hand in a bracing grip, Raven had told her, "there are psychos everywhere; we aren't responsible for their actions. They are."

The conviction in Raven's eyes as she spoke those words lingered with Clarke, a constant reminder that not only was she not responsible, but also that she wasn't alone. Each time the blood and nausea threatened to pervade her consciousness, Raven's determined brown eyes flashed across her vision. Clarke had only had one nightmare since their conversation and instead of raging rivers of blood it had featured Bellamy, throat slit, reaching out to her in desperation. She'd torn awake in a cold sweat, instantly turning to find him sleeping peacefully beside her. It had been easier to dismiss the vision as nothing more than her fears made manifest with the object of her terror resting safely beside her. The previous nightmares had fed on memories, not crude distortions of reality. Clarke found she was able to perfunctorily dismiss these new dreams and her sleeping habits were finally approaching normal.

She traced a finger over the scar on her right hand; the wound was barely detectable, only a ragged red line marring the pale flesh of her palm.

"You okay, Princess?"

Clarke startled, looking up to find Bellamy looming over her, sweat running enticingly down his chiseled chest. She flexed her hand, feeling the tightness of the new skin, before nodding. "You done for the day?"

He nodded, dark curls flying in the summer heat. "They're still working, but Mrs. Jaha came out and told me I needed to be presentable for dinner tonight, so I should get my gorgeous ass in the shower sooner rather than later."

Clarke's eyes drifted down his chest, tongue ghosting across her lips. "Did she actually say that?"

"The shower part or the gorgeous ass part?" He grinned cheekily down at her, dimples stretching his prominent freckles. A week in the sun had heightened the intensity of them, making him look divinely sun kissed. Clarke wanted nothing more than to pounce on him and taste that grin, but the Rose Garden was probably not the best place to act on her baser impulses.

"Do you really have to ask?" she murmured, rising to her feet. The late afternoon sun cast a radiant halo from behind Bellamy, giving him the aura of a bronzed god. She gave in to the urge to trail a hand down his sculpted chest.

He hummed in amusement, vibrating her fingers against his slick skin. "I may have taken some artistic license there. So what do you say, Princess, up for a shower?"

She let her hand trail lower. "You certainly are."

Bellamy gulped at her touch, Adam's apple bobbing frantically. His pupils were blown wide as he growled, "Clarke…"

Throwing caution into the wind, she mouthed his collarbone, savoring the salty tang of his skin before slowly retreating, grinning up at him in a decidedly unlady-like manner. "I was thinking about trying out the bathroom in the Queen's Bedroom… care to join me?"

Clarke tracked the movement of his tongue swiping across his chapped lips like hawk inspecting its prey. Her mouth watered and her fingers tingled, the memory of his skin against them lingering. She retreated toward a residential entrance between whitewashed Greek columns, keeping her eyes locked with his. His chest heaved with more than simple exertion as he stalked after her, skin glistening in the afternoon light. "Does this mean I get to call you 'your highness'?" He breathed against her ear as he caught one her hands, dragging her to a stop against his chest.

The heat of him burned into her more potently than the intense glare of the sun, setting her trembling against him. Enough with all the teasing; She couldn't imagine another second without his skin against hers. "You can call me anything you want, Bell, just get me to that fucking bedroom."

Clarke hardly recognized the breathy voice issuing the demand. Each time she thought she'd acclimated to the searing intensity between the two of them, he inspired her to new heights of desire. Her blood was crackling in her veins, his touch sending surges of electricity racing through her. She clung to his hand as they rushed through the halls of the residential wing, trusting that he would deliver them to the correct location.

A bang of a door and suddenly he was flush against her, the press of his slick skin short circuiting what was left of her brain. His deft fingers made quick work of her tank top and skirt before trailing tantalizingly slowly over her abdomen. She whimpered his name as his fingers brushed over the line of her panties.

"What do you want, Princess?" His voice was low and smoky, caressing her.

She blinked out at the bedroom, recalling their destination. The bed across from them was gilded with gold and canopied with an ornate tapestry that would have looked more at home in Versailles than the White House. Turning her attention back to Bellamy, she lazily caressed his features with her eyes, taking in the pout of his full lips and the burn of his dark eyes. "Worship me like a queen."

His gaze slid down her scantily clad body as he took a step back, falling to his knees before her. His lips traced the curve of her hip, sending her trembling back against the door, unable to trust her legs. His breath steamed against her as he whispered into her flesh. "Yes, your majesty."

S~*~S

Clarke was still reverberating from their afternoon rendezvous as she worked her way down the stairs for dinner. Maybe heels hadn't been the best idea, especially considering she was just starting to feel her toes. Bellamy patiently grasped her hand, lending much needed support, but she could see the amusement settling over his handsome features. Arrogant bastard. So what if she was still pulsating from the experience and all she wanted to do was drag him upstairs for round two. He had absolutely no right to be gloating as she nearly broke her neck on the White House stairs.

"Wipe that smile off your face or I will drive one of these stilettos through it," she hissed, giving his hand a harsh squeeze as she took another step down.

He slid his eyes over to her, snorting in disbelief. "I have it on good authority that you happen to rather enjoy my face and I sincerely doubt that you'd ever do anything like stab me with one of your shoes. No matter how bad you are at walking in them."

The indignation that bubbled up at his glib response was surmounted by the urge to giggle. She choked out a half laugh as she nearly collapsed on the next step. Thank god there was only half a staircase left before the ground floor. "This is fucking ridiculous."

"I'm pretty sure that's not appropriate language for this evening, Princess." His teeth pressed into his lower lip, emphasizing its delectable pout. Clarke looked away quickly; she did not need to stoke that particular fire right now. "You do know this would be faster if you'd just let me carry you, right?"

"Fuck off, Bell," she growled, managing the next few steps with only minor bobbles.

"Just trying to help, Princess." They were almost at the base of the stairs. Her sigh of relief was cut short as she remembered the flagstone path leading out the Rose Garden. Bloody buggering hell. She really should have gone with strappy sandals. Her white lace dress fell to mid thigh and went with pretty much everything in her wardrobe anyway.

She glanced up to find Bellamy grinning up at her from the base of the stairs, eyes twinkling with mirth. The urge to slap him and kiss him clashed within her. He was utterly infuriating. "Could you manage not to call me that during dinner, please? I have no desire to explain that nickname my mother."

His eyes smoldered down at her as she reached the ground floor at last. "Would you rather I call you 'your Majesty'?" he murmured huskily.

Shockwaves of need shot through her and she swayed, ankles shaking tenuously in her stilettos. She valiantly ignored the effects, glaring up at him, praying her eyes held steel instead of fire. "Bellamy. I'm serious."

To her relief the lascivious stare dissipated, leaving behind only silent amusement. "Clarke, I'm going to behave. I know how important this new relationship with your mother is and I'm not about to go being a jerk. Anyway, I'm pretty sure Mrs. Jaha would have my head if I ruined her illusion that I'm the most perfect man alive."

"You're so full of shit," she muttered, but motioned toward the corridor leading to the Rose Garden. "After you, Mr. Perfect."

They walked through the White House in comfortable silence. Clarke was grateful that Bellamy seemed to understand the stakes of the dinner they were about to attend. It was the first time they would all sit down together without the specter of her attack looming over them. Her mother and Bellamy had bonded over taking care of Clarke in LA, but they hadn't interacted since. Clarke knew Abigail had been serious when she committed to changing their relationship, but part of her still feared the return of the detached woman she had done battle with for so many years. People didn't change so quickly, did they? She couldn't be sure. The more she knew about her mother, the more she was an enigma. Everything about Abigail was a study of contradiction. She claimed to want to change the world, but as far as Clarke could tell, her mother had only served to enhance the status quo. She said she supported Clarke and Bellamy in their dance career, but her initial reaction to Bellamy, let alone Clarke's decision, said otherwise. Clarke had no idea where they stood with each other. Things were better than they had been for years, but she hardly knew her mother.

Bellamy laced his fingers through hers as they worked their way along the flagstone path. "Breathe, Clarke. It's going to be fine."

"Easy for you to say," she protested, but relaxed into the security his firm touch afforded. Even if it all did go to hell in a hand basket, Bellamy was here and she firmly believed, finally, that he wasn't going anywhere. The fissure between them had slowly mended as the weeks passed. Clarke had gone out of her way to make sure she shared what she was feeling with him, no matter how unpleasant it was to verbalize her weaknesses and air her dirty laundry. He'd returned the favor, stoically committed to finding a new normal for both of them. They had endured more than their fair share of painful honesty, but the result was worth the discomfort. She felt closer to him than ever, as if nothing short of nuclear apocalypse could tear them apart and perhaps not even that.

Her mother rose from the table as they reached the Rose Garden patio, quickly closing the distance to Clarke. Her wiry arms wrapped around her daughter. "Oh, honey, I've been so worried about you."

"I'm okay. Really." Clarke stared into her mother's desperate eyes, amazed at the depth of concern swelling in their hazel depths. A few months ago she would have thought such an expression impossible.

Abigail backed away, extending a slender hand to Bellamy. "Bellamy, good to see you again. I'm glad you could join us."

Bellmay nodded in response as he took her hand. "Mrs. Griffin. I'm glad I could be here."

"Enough with all the boring pleasantries," Mrs. Jaha interrupted from her seat at the lace adorned patio table. "I believe we have some delicious dishes prepared. Roasted beet salad followed by my personal favorite, seared Ahi Tuna."

"We musn't keep the lady waiting," President Jaha playfully admonished from his seat across the table.

Clarke offered him a thankful smile as she moved toward one of the vacant chairs. Ever the gentleman, Bellamy pulled the chair out of her with a wry smile. He didn't say anything, for which she was eternally grateful as the only words she could imagine falling from his lips were either "princess" or "your majesty" and both made her cheeks flush as the memory of his silky whispers washed over her. His fingers trailed across her shoulders as he stepped away, sinful heat flashing through his chocolate eyes as he sat beside her.

"So Clarke, tell us about this dance company you and Bellamy are starting," Mrs. Jaha prompted, motherly smile stretching across her face.

A burst of profound loss flowed through Clarke as she stared back at Wells' mother. Clarke was so used to hearing the same tone, seeing the same expression as Mrs. Jaha fretted over Wells. But now the expression was solely for Clarke and Wells was lost to them forever. She cleared her throat, trying to ebb the flow of her grief. "It's going to be amazing. I had a thesis project in college that I never go to finish that incorporated paintings I'd done with dance. I don't just want to create set pieces, I want to create pieces of art that the dancers will interact with and that will add to the mood or theme we pick. I never got very far with the project, but Bellamy seems to think it'll work."

Bellamy leveled an exasperated look at her before turning to Mrs. Jaha. "What Clarke means to say is that she has some brilliant ideas about mixing visual and performing arts media that are going to be the centerfold of our dance company. I wasn't sure I wanted to keep dancing because it all gets very formulaic, but Clarke's ideas are fresh and actually quite radical in some cases. I'm sure we'll have a very successful dance company thanks to the artistic brilliance of your daughter, Abby."

Clarke clenched her jaw to prevent it from dropping to the table. She blinked several times, checking to see if she had passed out or entered the Twilight Zone. Had Bellamy Blake, the man who had put a hand through a glass mirror in frustration after talking to her mother, just called that same woman Abby? Only her father had ever called her mother that and the word seemed like blasphemy coming from Bellamy's lips. Where she expected apocalypse, there was only a warm smile as her mother gazed back at Bellamy. They clearly had done more talking during the days Abigail had stayed after the attack than Clarke had given them credit for. It was becoming abundantly clear that Bellamy was not the cause of any remaining distance between Clarke and her mother. Clarke swallowed heavily. So it was up to her alone to close the gap.

"I very much look forward to seeing you in action," Abigail admitted. "I regret that the only time I saw you dance I had lot on my mind."

Clarke supposed that in Abigail Griffin's book, that was an apology. "It's okay, mom. There will be plenty of occasions to see me dance in the future."

Bellamy squeezed her thigh as he sent her a grateful look. She glared back him. She was capable of being nice to her mother; he didn't need to look so damn surprised. He raised a dark brow in response, but turned back to the others before she could react.

"Are you participating in the Dancing with the Stars tour, Bellamy? I thought they started last week, but here you are sitting at my table," The First Lady's tone was light, but Clarke guessed that she was disappointed her favorite dancer wasn't making the national rounds or returning to the show.

"I'm only doing a few select dates. After everything that's happened Clarke and I felt it best if we spent most of the summer together preparing for our company. We can move into our studio part time in August and we're going to be holding auditions just after Labor Day." A private smile graced Clarke's lips. It was wonderful to just sit and let his deep voice wash over her. His rich baritone could entrance her for hours on end.

"And how about your sister," her mother asked. "From the time I spent with her, I was under the impression she was continuing on with the show. It's got to be hard for the two of you to live apart."

He nodded, dark eyes shadowed. Clarke knew the decision to part ways with Octavia had not been an easy one. Bellamy had spent his entire life looking after her and now he was moving to another state and putting his energy into caring for another woman. Aside from her disgruntled reaction to his departure from the tour, Octavia had remained stoic, giving neither her brother nor Clarke any insight into her feelings regarding her brother's impending move.

"Octavia's strong; she'll be fine on her own." The turmoil churning in his eyes belied the confidence of his statement. "Either way, her boyfriend is the kicker for the Denver Broncos. They're planning on splitting their time between LA and Denver, each of them traveling when they need to."

Clarke blinked. Of course Octavia would be coming to Denver fairly often. She'd completely spaced that Lincoln lived in Denver most of the year and that the two of them would not be at the LA house year round. That meant Octavia would likely be in Denver during the downtime in the show, making the separation between brother and sister infinitely more bearable.

"That's wonderful news. I was worried poor Octavia would be on her own. She's such a wonderful girl, I'm so glad I got to meet her in May." What Mrs. Jaha had meant as a friendly piece of conversation quickly silenced the table as they were all reminded of exactly what had brought them together in May. Clarke hadn't broached the topic of Wells with either of his parents in the last week and the sudden reference to his funeral had her reeling. She had no idea what to say. None of her words had the power to restore Wells to life and platitudes seemed a pitiful alternative.

"I'm so very sorry to have never had the pleasure of meeting your son," Bellamy spoke softly into the heavy silence. His teeth worried his lip for a moment before he forged on. "I've only heard wonderful things about him from Clarke and I truly regret not being able to meet her best friend."

Clarke resisted the urge to gape at Bellamy for the second time in as many minutes. She knew he was comfortable speaking, but watching him push through the unease of the moment to comfort the Jahas showed a facet of him she hadn't seen before. There was no sign of the Bellamy she had met in the studio in March. That man had resented her before speaking to her, had felt the need to compensate for an imagined slight. Now he sat across from the President of the United States and the First Lady, face awash with genuine sympathy, as he comforted them on the loss of their son. The old Bellamy wouldn't have been caught dead in the White House; his discomfort in May had spoken to that. Now, though, he was unencumbered by the insecurities that had haunted him. He was finally seeing the Jahas as people, not any different than himself or Octavia.

Clarke had never been more proud of him. He was eloquence in motion on the dance floor, but that talent came easily to him. This, sitting beside those of an entirely different background than himself, and simply having a conversation, a difficult one at that, was far beyond her wildest hopes. He had changed. She'd been wondering if people could change and here was her proof. Despite the pact they'd made to move beyond their guilt, Clarke had harbored doubts. She still occasionally saw her fingers drenched in blood out of the corner of her eye and she was forced to wonder if no matter how much she wanted to change, to move beyond, she would be mired in the past. And yet here was Bellamy, the same man she'd known for the past five months, but not the same at all. He had evolved, let go of the anger and mistrust that had permeated him during their first few weeks together. He was stronger now and if he could undergo such a metamorphosis, so could she.

The murmur of conversation reminded her that she was still sitting at the dinner table. Bellamy's dark curls brushed across her cheek as he leaned into her. "You okay? You've had this glazed look for the past few minutes."

His concerned tone was enough to pull her fully back into the moment. "I'm fine, don't worry."

"If you need a break or want to talk about Wells…"

She inclined her head to meet his dark stare. "I'm not thinking about Wells right now, but thanks."

"But you're okay?" His hand had crept over to her thigh and idly caressed it. The movement sent tingles down her spine and served less to calm her than to put all of her nerves on high alert.

"Bellamy…" she muttered, shifting subtly away from his continued ministrations. "I'm fine."

Taking the hint, his hand retreated and he turned back to engage the other members of their dinner party. The conversation had turned to more mundane topics and Clarke spent the rest of dinner trying to simply enjoy the warmth she felt upon realizing she was in the company of her best friends and family. She had never thought the day would come that she would count her mother among that number, but the optimistic smiles her mother kept directing toward Clarke had her thankful that they were trying.

S~*~S

The humid air oozed over her skin as they trekked across the green expanses of Arlington. Clarke felt as if she'd been transported to a tropical planet with several times Earth's gravity and an atmosphere you could literally cut with a knife. Sweat pooled in her bra, but Clarke ignored the discomfort as she stared down at the passing graves, taking time to read each of the names carved in stone. Bellamy hovered at her side, stripped down to a white tank top and khaki shorts in capitulation to the stifling Virginia heat. He hadn't said a word since they'd left the metro station and Clarke didn't know whether to be grateful or perturbed. She spared a glance at him as she paused beside a grave marked 'Alexander Weatherly.' His bronzed skin stood out starkly against the white top, making him look exotic and foreign against the generally white washed tourists. His hair was tucked under a blue baseball cap with BLAKE emblazoned on it in bold white letters, but several rebellious curls had found their way to freedom. He was staring with an inscrutable expression down the long row of graves, clearly aware of their destination but in no hurry to get there.

Clarke sighed and reached down to grab his hand. Their fingers intertwined for an instant before the Virginia sauna had them separating again. Clarke had no idea what to say and Bellamy didn't seem inclined to fill the silence, so they trooped onwards, the only sounds the squish of their shoes on the moist ground. Another 500 yards down the rows of headstones broke into a small clearing. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the low chain fence barricading an island of graves in the lush grass. Her feet felt like cinderblocks as she stepped over the low fence, falling to her knees before one of the white marble headstones. Clarke placed her hand on the warm marble, feeling the smooth surface slide against her scarred palm.

"Hi dad."

She kept her voice low, sure that Bellamy could hear her, but uninterested in attracting the attention of the mobs of tourists armed with digital cameras and selfie sticks. The weight of Bellamy's hand settled on her shoulder, but he made no further movement.

"It's been awhile since we talked. Last time I stopped by I tried to tell you that things were going pretty well. That I was doing everything I ever wanted to in life." Clarke paused, a choked sob catching in her throat. "What a joke, dad. I was just lying to myself and I'm pretty sure you would have told me that. I spent three and a half years in Med School because I thought I was making you happy… nearly two of them with you still around.

"I realize now that I never really talked to you. I kept telling myself I couldn't talk to mom, but I never tried to really talk to either of you. I just wanted to be the perfect daughter… so you'd be proud of me and so mom would leave me alone." Clarke sighed, ignoring the steady trickle of water down her cheeks that disappeared into tendrils of sweat running down her neck. "I miss you so damn much. I wish you could see me now. I'm so happy… like really happy. I've met the most wonderful man; I know you would love him. Mom and I are talking too, so that's a minor miracle. And I've quit school to become a dancer. Don't laugh… I'm actually pretty good at it or at least Bellamy thinks so and I trust him."

Bellamy placed a gentle kiss against the crook of her neck and Clarke paused, smiling back at him. "I do trust you."

"I know," he murmured against her skin before settling beside her once more. She held his dark eyes for a moment longer, drawing courage from their infinite depths.

"I wish a lot of things, dad," she continued, placing both hands on the warm marble. "I wish you could see me now… and maybe you can. I've seen too much to claim I know what happens after we leave this Earth, but I keep praying you and Wells are watching over us…" She cut off, her voice quaking too much to speak. One of Bellamy's hands encompassed hers, trapping her hand between the heat him and the marble. Where she would have once have felt panic, there was only reassurance. She wasn't alone, not even in this horrendous moment where the whole universe felt just seconds away from collapsing in upon her.

"Which brings me to Wells, dad." She swiped at her cheeks with her free hand. "I have no idea what I'm going to do without him… I've never been without him before. I mean yeah, there was college, but he was still just a phone call away. Even when I moved to LA for the show I talked to him every day. And now… now I've lost my best friend and I have no idea how to live without him."

Her final words were barely a whisper, too soft for even Bellamy to hear. Despite their newfound honesty Clarke had yet to muster up the courage to broach this particular subject with him. She told herself she didn't want him to feel like he was second best to Wells, but Bellamy was hardly the type of person to feel slighted by her dead best friend and the excuse was flimsy at best. So much had happened between Wells' passing and this moment in the cemetery that she hardly felt like his death was real. Perhaps he had taken an extended holiday and she would get a postcard from some exotic place. It was bearable to think that as the alternative clawed at barely healed wounds, rendering them raw again. Clarke had felt shamefully selfish as she battled her own demons and ignored the gaping hole that was Wells, but she hadn't been ready to face that reality, not until she had retreated from the brink of self-destruction.

She bowed down to kiss the marble, feeling the warmth of her father's cheek against her lips. "I'll come back sooner, dad. I promise."

Rising to her feet, she scanned the horizon for her next destination. A crowd of Americana clad tourists swarmed next to the headstones in her path causing her to turn back toward the metro station. She could do that visit another time.

"Clarke."

Bellamy's voice was soft, but his tone demanded her attention. She bit her lip and stared directly at the sun for moment, praying it would blind her, before pivoting to face him. The flecks in his eyes sparkled in the sun, but his expression was too severe for her to appreciate the effect. She wiped at the sweat pooling at the back of her neck, thankful she had at least thought to put her hair into a messy bun before their journey. "What?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Clarke."

"I can visit next time."

He tore a hand through his hair, knocking the baseball cap to the ground. He didn't even glance down. "That's bullshit and you know it."

"I can't face him. Not with all of them around." She pointed to a cowboy hat adorned couple posing for a selfie in front of Wells' grave. The scene made bile rise in her throat and she immediately looked away.

"Fine." Bellamy shrugged, snagging his hat from the ground and stalking over to the crowd of tourists. With a few words and some borderline violent hand gestures, the area cleared. He turned toward her, motioning toward the now empty gravesite.

She took a deep breath, choking down the cloying tropical air as she shuffled towards him. If her feet had been cinderblocks before, they were lead bricks now. Each step sapped energy from her, as if one step too far and her life force would snuff out. She pushed onward, clinging to the strength of Bellamy's unyielding stare. She wasn't sure she could do this, but a dearth of alternatives kept her moving.

Her final step to stand beside him took all her willpower; her limbs felt broken and disjointed. Bellamy gripped her arm tightly, his hold bruising as he lowered them both toward the hallow ground. Knees resting on the damp grass, she opened her mouth to speak but only air rushed out.

"I'll start." Bellamy loosened his grip on her, shifting to face the headstone. His deep voice was a soothing murmur against the deafening rush of panic coursing through her veins. "I'm sorry I never got to meet you. I've heard great things about you from Clarke. I suppose you probably never heard anything very good about me. Clarke and I didn't start out on the best of feet and I'm pretty sure the only thing she got to tell you about was this pig-headed asshole she'd been paired with on Dancing with the Stars."

He paused and Clarke summoned up the courage to glance his direction. A severe frown marred his striking features as he stared directly down at Wells' name carved into white marble. "You see, before Clarke I was a pretty angry guy with a serious chip on my shoulder. Life had sucked and I'd decided somewhere along the line to take that out on the world instead of dealing with it. Then Clarke came around and pissed me off more than anyone else had. She was privileged, but she didn't expect to be treated differently. She fought back against me in a way no one ever had. She wasn't about to take my attitude and she wasn't about to let me take out one tiny bit of my issues on her."

Bellamy shifted to sit cross-legged on the grass, dark eyes darting to meet her wide gaze before snapping forward again. "I think I started to fall in love with her when I still thought I hated her. The unforgivable thing is that it took her falling apart because of you for me to realize what had happened. I hope I would have figured it out on my own, but in a really fucked up way you helped me figure a lot of shit out." He swallowed convulsively for a moment, hands picking at the grass. "But I know now how amazing a woman she is and if she's this amazing then you had to be pretty damn amazing too."

Clarke stared at his taut jaw, wishing she could see into the workings of his mind. She'd had no idea how early he'd started to feel something toward her. The mess that had been their stop and go courtship had distracted her from ever considering the point of origin of his feelings. She'd been so sure that he'd vehemently despised her during those first few weeks. She knew Wells' death had been the turning point in their relationship, but she'd assumed the trauma had humanized her for him, not that he had recognized already nascent emotions.

Regardless of her sudden revelation, they were still sitting beside Wells' grave and Clarke needed to face the music before she went permanently deaf. She balled her hands into fists, concentrating on the scrape of her nails into the flesh of her palms. Her right nail met the tough skin of her scarred palm, the unexpected sensation jarring her. She pushed past the tremor rushing through her with a steadying breath and one last glance at Bellamy's strong features.

"So it's been a hell of spring, hasn't it?" Her voice was mothball infested. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I think of you all the time. Sometimes I even forget you're not around. I'll sit there and try to remember all the things I want to tell you about my day and then I realize… you're not here anymore. Or maybe you are. Maybe you can hear my stupid rambling every hour of the day."

Clarke shoved her hands into the grass, digging at the shallow roots. "If I had to pick, I'd take that option even if you get to see me being utterly ridiculous most of the time. So, yeah. Hell of a spring.

"I think I'm mostly in one piece, but other days I'm really not sure about that. I'm pretty sure about some things. Bellamy is amazing and I'm sorry I ever called him Blake the giant asshole or whatever other monikers you heard on the phone."

Beside her Bellamy only partially muffled his amused snort. "I expected far more creative name calling out of you, Princess."

"Fuck off." She sent an elbow arching blindly in his direction and was satisfied by the oomph he emitted seconds later. The moment of humor did much to settle her panic and she continued on with a stronger timbre. "Anyway, I don't think I would have made it through much of anything without him and his sister by my side. I never thought I'd have any other family. Especially after dad died, it was just going to be you and me until we were old and grey, but Bellamy and Octavia have proved me wrong."

Clarke settled further into the damp grass as she began to fiddle with the scar on her hand. "There have been some really shitty times, Wells. Shittier than I ever imagined life could get. I thought dad dying was bad. Then you died, you fucker. What the hell am I supposed to do without you? I keep trying, but it really doesn't seem to be working." Her vision blurred as an army of tears surged up and tore down her cheeks. "I fucking killed someone, Wells. How the hell did life get that fucked up? I'd give my damned arm to be back with you on some shitty couch we dragged out of a dumpster eating greasy spoon Chinese food and debating the merits of Captain America versus Iron Man. Instead I've got blood on my hands and I'm at the precipice of a life I never even dared to dream about it. It's fucking confusing and I'm so out of my depth that I'm drowning on the good days and going bat shit crazy on the bad ones. Jesus. It's all just fucked, isn't it?"

She was thankful for Bellamy's continued silence beside her. She wasn't sure she could handle his reaction to her words right now. Things had been getting better, but she still felt so far away from equilibrium that she had no idea which way to turn. Clarke was sure of things with Bellamy, but that was the extent of her confidence. As the reality of the dance company loomed closer, fears that she thought had been laid to rest resurfaced. She knew she could dance, but the thought of making an entire career out of it still scared her shitless. What if she got hurt, twisted an ankle while walking down the street? A dancer's career was their body and she didn't have any confidence that hers would hold up to the stress. She'd spent the last four years in medical school, sedentary as a drunk skunk. Clarke had been fit in college, but that wasn't quite yesterday anymore.

Just one look at Bellamy told her what years of fitness did to a physique and she paled in comparison. His muscles were engrained in the movement of dance, it suffused from every pore. She was just an awkward white chick trying to break a lifetime of bad habits. She'd talked with Raven about her reservations a few times and unlike the professional dancers in her life, Raven had understood. But Raven wasn't deciding to give up her extraordinarily successful company to become the director of and principal dancer in her own company. Raven had told her to suck it the fuck up and take life by the horns, but Clarke wasn't sure she had that spark of ruthlessness in her. Raven seemed pretty sure she did, but Clarke had yet to see any physical manifestation of that aside from her ability to stab Dax in the throat when it mattered. That was more of a nightmare than an inspiration to tackle life.

She just wanted to be sitting next to her best friend. She knew that even though Wells might not have all the answers, he would know exactly what to say to drive her back from the brink of permanent insanity. But here she was, talking a slab of marble and feeling the gaping hole in her heart more acutely than ever.

Bellamy shifted beside her, resting a warm hand on her bare knee. Guilt surged up in her, pooling restlessly in her stomach. He should be enough for her, but somehow he wasn't. She still needed Wells. The sinking feeling in her gut told her she was going to need Wells for a long time to come.

"It's okay, Clarke." His voice was a deep rumble, barely audible in the dank afternoon air. "It's okay to wish he was here instead of me."

"No it's not," she argued as she turned to face him. He was staring down at the marble, but his shoulders were relaxed and he exuded a calmness that surprised her.

He looked up at her, dark eyes devoid of any hint of resentment or malice. "It is okay. I'm not going to hold it against you that you need your best friend. I get how horrible it must be to be suddenly cut off from him and then thrust into the hellish spring we had. I'm not that guy and I think you know that."

A torrent of relief washed over Clarke. She supposed deep down beyond the twisted part of her brain that seemed able to convince her of just about anything, she knew Bellamy was right. They had been through too much together for him to be threatened by her need for her best friend. He had lost people too. His mother, Lisa. He hadn't even been able to talk about what happened to his former girlfriend and Clarke could sense how much that still tore him apart. She kept assuming that Bellamy only wanted the version of her she tried to show the world, but it was time to accept that he knew her far better than that. One look from his dark eyes felt like he was peeling away her protective layers and baring her naked soul to him. He had always had the ability to strip her down to her basic elements and it made sense that he understood her in a way she could not.

She bowed her head to rest her damp brow against his bronzed shoulder. She might need Wells in a way that felt like being torn limb from limb, but she had Bellamy. He didn't want anything from her right now and that made everything bearable. The man beside her understood how deeply seated her feelings were and he wasn't trying to change her, at least not in this way. He believed in her strength when she could not. He let her be herself while pushing her past her preconceived limits and into virgin territory. He set her skin on fire and drove her to unparalleled highs. She hardly remembered who she had been before he walked into her life. She didn't want to remember.


	19. Chapter 19

**Epilogue: "Then I defy you, stars!" - Romeo and Juliet**

~15 months later

"Good, Emily! More height on the grand jeté. I want it to look like you're flying through the picture frame."

Bellamy's voiced boomed in the empty Ellie Caulkins Opera House, echoing off the ornately decorated walls and ceiling. He stood center stage surrounded by several dancers clad in a rag-tag mix of ballet wear and outfits that would never be allowed anywhere near a self-respecting dance studio. Clarke adjusted her torn sweatpants and moved down from her position in the wings stage right. He glanced up at her, chocolate eyes softening as they surveyed her face.

"Let's take five and run it again. I don't need to remind you all to put every drop of sweat and blood into this one. Several important sponsors plus the President of the United States are going to be attending tonight. We expect nothing but the best from all of you. This is our chance to prove we're worth the attention and the funding." He paused, staring out at the mass of the dancers that had gathered around him. "I'm so proud of all of you. Always remember…"

"WE ARE GROUNDERS" the group roared. Their intensity had Clarke rocking back on her heels as she grinned. Speech complete, Bellamy made his way over to where she stood. His freckles pulled in all directions as his face contorted with a joy Clarke had rarely seen.

"We've actually done it, Princess," he murmured, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek.

"I thought you had infinite confidence that this would work out," she replied slyly. "I recall many a late night where you were the one telling me there was absolutely no doubt in your mind we could make this happen."

His smile maintained its brilliance as he shrugged. "Fake it 'til you make it."

"So you spent the last year lying to me?" She tried to sound upset, but his joy was infectious and it was like trying to scold an adorable puppy.

"Only in the interest of convincing you how awesome you are." He wrapped a muscled arm around her shoulders, pulling her into the heady scent of sandalwood that clung to him. "Are all the seating arrangements dealt with?"

She burrowed into his warmth, nodding. "Yup. I've put the Jahas in a box with prime view along with my mother. Raven, Finn, Lincoln and Octavia are in the orchestra first row. I got a call from a few of the Dancing with the Stars pros too… I think I forgot to tell you that. Anyway Roma, Nathan, John and Costia are coming. I think Lexa is with Costia since they asked for five seats."

He pulled away to dip his head, luminous eyes searching her face. "You're okay with that?"

"With Lexa? That was over a long time ago and she's happy with Costia. It's hardly my place to have an issue with her attending our first real performance on an actual stage." She frowned at him. They had spent barely any time worrying over the past during the last year and it seemed odd that he would bring up the subject now.

Bellamy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he shook his head. "No, I meant Roma."

Clarke blinked vacantly up at him. "Huh? Why would I have a problem with her?"

"Well…" He shifted against her, licking his lips before continuing. "It's just I got the impression that you didn't much like her."

"Bell. When I have I ever been that petty? I don't like John Murphy… he's a total sleaze ball, but I'm not about to stop him from attending. Give me more credit than that." She didn't know whether to laugh at him or hit him. They'd been together for nearly a year and a half; whatever fears Clarke had harbored about Roma were ancient history now. On bad days she still wished she had the other dancer's lithe physique, but Clarke had spent the past year learning just how much she could do with her body. There was no longer any intimidation factor as she considered the TV star.

"Okay, okay." He trailed his lips over her ear, sending shivers down her spine. His breath danced through the loose stands of her hair as he promised, "I'll make this one up to you."

She pulled away, trying to ignore the weakness building in her knees. One would think after a year and a half of intense physical contact the effect he had on her would wane, but if anything it had intensified. One steamy look and he had her collapsing to the ground, biting her lip to keep from begging him to ravish her. It was insane, but deep down Clarke knew she wouldn't have it any other way. He had truly ruined her and she loved it.

She wiped a hand over her sweaty brow, trying to focus on the texture of her moist skin and not the need boiling up within her. "How about you? Are you okay performing in front of my mother? The last time that happened you ended up with a bloody hand and I was disowned."

Bellamy gave her an odd look before rolling his eyes. "I hardly think Abby is going to disown you again and I have no plans to punch anyone or any thing."

"What exactly is it that you two have been plotting on the phone? It's not natural for a girl's boyfriend and her mother to spend that much time chatting." The strange look flashed through his eyes again and Clarke couldn't help the unease that settled in the pit of her stomach. He was hiding something from her; that much was obvious. But why? She thought they'd passed this particular hurdle several times over. There had been moments of excruciating doubt as they moved through the stages of her guilt and the ramifications of their decision to start the company, but they had come out other side stronger than ever. What didn't kill you made you stronger and all that. His clear deception made her wonder exactly how much of an illusion the progress between them had been.

As if sensing her doubts, he caught her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. His face was open as his vulnerable eyes bored into hers. "Clarke, nothing bad is going on. I need you to trust me. Your mom and I have always been close since last year… you know that."

"Yes, you both did a great job bonding over the damsel in distress," she groused. "But that was ages ago. I'm still in one piece and both of you have finally stopped treating me like I'm some precious china doll you need to keep pristine to sell on Ebay someday."

His jaw muscle twitched and his eyes darkened. "That's a little harsh, wouldn't you say?"

"I'm sorry." Clarke groaned. She didn't mean to snipe at him, but the stress of the day was taking more of a toll on her than she had thought. "Look, let's just forget it. I do trust you and I think I'm going to be going a little crazy until we can finally lift that curtain tonight."

Bellamy nodded down at her as his calloused hands caught her face. "I know the feeling, but the only thing I want to do tonight is go out there on stage together. I want the world to see you like I do."

Clarke swallowed at the intensity bursting from his dark eyes that threatened to catch her soul on fire. The power he had over her was intoxicating and she wanted nothing more than be moving on stage with him right now, free from the confines of her worries and fears. They'd put together a duet that would end the showcase, but there was no chance of rehearsing it before the performance began. They'd elected to choreograph in secret, away from the prying eyes of their company dancers. It had felt like they were back on the show again, except this time the privacy had been real and the cameras had been thankfully absent.

"Clarke, we've created something amazing. You don't need to be scared of it, not anymore."

His words hung in the air between them and she couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't just talking about their upcoming performance. They had come so far, but she still had moments where bolts of terror raced down her spine. She knew they were in a good place. She hadn't had a nightmare in months and Bellamy seemed to lighten each day.

The angry man she'd met in the studio nearly two years prior had faded into nothing more than an unpleasant memory. Out of the ashes had risen a man she loved more and more each day. Each gesture, each moment of connection on the dance floor transcended reality, bringing them together in a higher realm Clarke could hardly begin to describe. Moving with him, creating with him was a spiritual experience. He pushed her beyond all imaginable limits, reining her in just before she fell over the brink and into insanity. She'd come to crave their choreography sessions, needing her fix. Days where they didn't head to the studio were supplemented by impromptu sessions in their living room or on nice days, the fields behind the farmhouse.

Before Bellamy, Clarke had only imagined freedom, but now she knew its taste, the rush of it through her veins. She looked back on her life before the show and saw nothing but gray tones. Wells had been a beautiful rainbow in a world of sepia, but Clarke hadn't really been living then. She'd still been attached to the expectations of her mother and father. Of the whole freaking world, if she was honest. Now she could hardly imagine a day without movement. Not harnessing her creativity seemed as foreign as embracing it had seemed a few years prior.

There were still plenty of bad days where she could think of nothing more than her father or Wells. The worst were the days where Dax's blood followed her, a demented ghost to her every move. Those days she headed to the studio and worked until her feet bled and her muscles trembled too much to support her. The first few times Bellamy had tried to help, but he'd learned that the best thing was to leave her alone, let her dance out the feelings. She would come home ragged and drained, but the next morning she was whole again, the flight of insanity having passed in her exhaustion.

Bellamy had his share of imperfect days, but he was more stoic. Clarke still wasn't quite sure how he worked through everything. Often he'd disappear in the pickup early in the morning, the roar of the engine and billow of dust the only goodbye she got. The first time he disappeared she called Octavia in a panic. The younger Blake had talked her down from the edge, assuring her that it was natural for Bellamy to take off when everything got a bit too intense. She'd gotten the sense that Octavia knew where he went, but his sister hadn't given her any details. All she'd shared was that her brother was perfectly safe and that Clarke should go about business as usual. Several billows of dust later Clarke had finally followed him in the Jeep. When he turned off the main road at the cemetery Clarke hadn't needed to trail him further. His mother's grave was nestled in the corner of the small graveyard.

They rarely spoke of their respective breakdowns, allowing each other both dignity and security. When they did come up in conversation it was more of an acknowledgement than a concern. They both knew how much the other had been through and there was absolutely no reason to pick at old wounds. Even their darker moments drove them together in twisted solidarity. They were closer than Clarke ever thought two people were capable of being. The relationships she saw around her paled in comparison to the tour de force that existed between them. So why did those waves of panic still steal into the pit of her stomach?

Bellamy stepped closer to her, his breath ghosting over her skin as he stared down at her, fire in his dark eyes. "Clarke. I've got you. This is everything we ever wanted. I know that's terrifying, but it's a good type of terrifying. Believe me. The only other time I never felt this way, cared this much, was my first night on the show. I wasn't alone then, I had O. And you're not alone now. You have me. We're in this together, Clarke, for better or worse. You're not alone."

She stared back at him, surrendering to the absolute certainty in his deep voice. "Okay."

"Good. Now let's get back to work. I want to run this at least one more time before we finish. I still think Emily and Jake can have stronger chemistry. They just need to let go a bit more."

Clarke smiled at his back as he turned away from her to call the other company members to order. She inhaled deeply, feeling the air rush through her nose and mouth and into her lungs. He was right; he was nearly always right. This was their moment. She wasn't about to let her past neuroses take this away from her.

S~*~S

The stage was pitch black, only the dim light of the green exit signs dotting the doorways of the opera house penetrating the looming abyss. Clarke could hear her breath mingling with Bellamy's unsteady gasps. She pushed her feet more firmly into the stage, grounding herself in the familiar feel of the wood. The first beat of RAIGN's "Knocking on Heaven's Door" shuddered through the floorboards, vibrating her. Bellamy thrummed against her as the second drumbeat pulsated through them. He spun her up and over his head as the spotlights snapped on, catching her mid flight. Her white chiffon dressed fluttered with her movement, spilling across his bare chest as he lowered her slowly to the ground.

His features were emphasized by the interplay of shadows, his cheekbones sharper, his eyes dark caverns as he stalked toward Clarke where she lay splayed across the dark stage. She twisted away from him, struggling against the clutch of his hands upon her ankles, dragging her away from the audience and into the darkness of the stage. In a final violent twist she sprung free, racing toward the edge of the stage, spotlight chasing her. An instant before she would fall into the abyss his strong arms gripped Clarke beneath her shoulders pulling her into rotational lift that had the whole world spinning around her in a confusion of light and shadow. She regained her focus as Bellamy spun her away from him and into a one handed cartwheel.

Looking back at him, her breath caught in her throat, but she remembered to spring into the air, crashing to earth in time with one of the downbeats. He was ethereal, clad only in white pants and his halo of curls. She rolled across the stage, contorting her body to reach continually outward. He stayed away from her for a moment longer, his dark hair flying as he launched himself into a complicated series of jumps and turns that ended with him vaulting over her prone frame. She convulsed in time with his movement, stretching toward him with every muscle in her body.

He caught her in his grasp, the brush of his chest against her bare back sending a cascade of shivers down her spine. He caught her hiccupped breath and stared down at her for a beat longer than planned, his eyes darkening even in the low light. When he pulled her against him again it was with such a violent possessiveness she forgot to breathe. Her legs trembled, but held firm as she twirled away from him, moving through the intricate choreography with an ease she had never experienced.

They joined together moments later, her back arching to its extreme as he swung her by the waist. Her loose hair trailed along the floor before she catapulted back into him, her lips gasping against his skin. Before she had time to recover he launched her spinning into the air in a flight she would never have dreamt of taking even six months before. Now, though, she trusted completely that his strong arms would recover her at just the right moment, sending her sailing over his head and into a jarring somersault across the hard wood.

Barely feeling the effects of the move, she swept into a series of pirouettes while he circled her like a beast stalking its prey. Her whole body vibrated with the exhilaration of his gaze, but she didn't falter, didn't pause in her endless rotations. Eventually the steady drum beats faded and he plucked her out of the turns, placing her limp body down at center stage before dropping to kneel behind her, as if in prayer, before collapsing over her.

Clarke could hardly remember how to breathe properly let alone stand as the house lights illuminated and she and Bellamy were exposed to a standing ovation from nearly the entire opera house. She stared up at him, eyes wide in astonishment. They'd danced in earlier parts of the program, but this was different. This was something she couldn't even begin to put into words. His eyes were dark with naked desire and awe as he stared down at her. Sweat trickled down from his curls across the constellations of freckles, pooling above his full lips before dripping down to the cleft of his chin and the strong line of his jaw. He'd never looked more untamed. Her heart wrenched in her chest and for a moment she feared it would stop beating. This was everything. She wanted this moment to stretch on for eternity. She needed this moment to stretch to eternity. Clarke had spent so long looking for her purpose, for her place. She'd already known she had found it, but this moment proved that she belonged with Bellamy beyond any of those meddlesome spurts of doubt that liked to crawl through her.

The cacophony of applause rushed over her as she glanced out at the crowd, remembering where they were. He pushed to his feet, offering her a hand. She clasped his arm, vowing never to let go. Together they faced the audience. With the house lights turned on she could make out the beaming faces of their friends and the proud look firmly ensconced on her mother's face. She resisted the urge to laugh giddily.

Bellamy stepped back, motioning for Clarke to curtsey. Right. This was supposed to be a formal gala and it wouldn't do for the stars of the show not to bow. She sank to her knee, drinking in the continuing roar. She'd never imagined getting this type of recognition. The applause on the show had always been polite, but ever the worst of the stars had always gotten a favorable response. Here, in front of a real audience, she knew the reaction wasn't perfunctory.

Bellamy stepped forward, dipping into a small bow before raising a hand to quiet the audience. One of the crew ran out from the back stage to hand him a microphone. Clarke stared at him in askance, having no recollection of this in their rehearsals. He ignored her look, turning instead to the crowd.

"Thank you all for coming to the Grounders first Gala. We very much appreciate your support and I hope you can find the time to come and see us again and encourage your friends to do so as well. The company has been hard at work for the past nine months creating these pieces and I'm so grateful that we were able to premier many of them in such a wonderful venue with such a wonderful crowd. Your support has made us possible and we can't thank you enough."

He paused, glancing back at Clarke with the same odd look she'd noticed earlier in the day. "Before you go I just wanted to take an extra minute to acknowledge the extraordinary efforts of Ms. Clarke Griffin, my invaluable partner in crime. Without Clarke none of this would have been possible. She has showed me how to be the best dancer I can be and also how to be the best man. I owe my entire life to Clarke."

He cut off again, holding out a hand to Clarke. She allowed him to gather her small hand within his, as he guided her to the front of the stage. His fingers trembled around hers and once again she was beset with the feeling that she wasn't quite seeing the whole picture. Once they stopped, Bellamy caught her mother's gaze for a long moment, only turning away when Abigail gave a subtle nod. Clarke stared up at his stormy dark eyes as he cleared his throat, the noise echoing in the large chamber.

Then he was dropping to his knee in front of her and Clarke's heart was spilling out of her chest and onto the ground in front of her. "Clarke Alexandra Griffin, you have made me a better man than I ever dreamed I could be. You have pushed me on when I thought there was nowhere to go but down. You have never given up on me even when I gave up on myself. I mean it. I owe my entire life to you. I need you. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?"

Clarke hadn't thought she could feel any more on top of the world, but with the adrenaline of their performance still rushing through her veins she knew there would never be another high like this. His deep brown eyes stared up at her, daring her soul to ignite. She trembled anew, joy tearing through her like the flames of a forest fire. For a moment she stayed perfectly still, willing eternity to stretch out before her. Finally, when she couldn't contain her elation any more she dropped to her knees before Bellamy, crashing her lips to his in a bruising, exhilarated kiss.

His full lips were swollen when she finally pulled away, giving him a sinfully ravished air. His dark eyes sparkled as he grinned back at her. "Is that a yes?"

The mike had long since been forgotten on the stage next to him and his words were for her alone. Clarke's facial muscles hurt from the intensity of her smile. "Yes! Yes. Yes. Yes. A million times yes."

Now it was his turn to crash into her. His lips worked against hers with a heat she knew she would never tire of. She wanted to surrender to him right there on the stage, but a part of her brain had managed to retain the knowledge that they were in public and that a full on make out session was probably not the best way to win over donors. She pulled away, panting against his freckled cheek.

"I think we should probably get on with the rest of the curtain call before the audience gets too restless," she murmured breathily. He groaned into her neck, but pulled away. They rose to their feet together and she bent to retrieve the mike. "Well, that was certainly a surprise. Probably not what any of you were expecting for the finale." The crowd murmured in bemused acknowledgement. Clarke was unable to keep the grin from splitting her face as she spoke again. "I'm proud to announce that Bellamy Blake and I are formally engaged. But enough about us, let's have a round of applause for the wonderful members of the Grounders Company."

She and Bellamy retreated to the corner of the stage as the previously rehearsed bows and finale continued. She glanced out into the crowd and caught her mother's eyes. Abigail grinned back her, her expression more relaxed than Clarke had ever seen it. She leaned back to Bellamy. "Is that what you and my mom were conspiring about?"

"You're a smart one, Princess, you tell me," he murmured into her ear.

"Yes. You two were up to your necks in it on this. Did you ask her permission?" Clarke was genuinely curious. She understood Bellamy had coordinated with Abigail, but he didn't seem like the type of man to ask permission for much.

"We discussed the matter, but no I didn't ask her." There was a long pause before he spoke again. "I took a weekend and flew to D.C. She and I went to Arlington together and I asked your dad there."

Clarke was momentarily speechless. He had flown all the way to the other side of he country to ask her deceased father for permission to marry her. It sounded absurd, but it was the most thoughtful way he could have gone about it. The idea wouldn't have ever occurred to most people, but Bellamy wasn't most people. He seemed to know what she needed, even in this strange case. "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

"I know." He pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck. "I told my mother too. I wish she could be here. I want her to know that I didn't end up as a fuck up. I wish more than anything that she could have met you, seen what we've done together."

"She knows, Bell." Clarke twisted to stare into his fathomless eyes. "They both know. Wherever they are, they know. We never really lose them; we carry them within us."

Bellamy nestled his chin into the crook of her shoulder. His bare chest heaved against her back in time with her own elated breaths. "You're right. We're all in this together."

She glanced up at him, eternity stretching out from his boyish grin. Sighing deeply she nodded. Together.


End file.
